


This Dame's Prepared for War

by OriginalAlcy



Category: Sin City - All Media Types, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Badass Lexa, F/F, Mentions of Rape, Minor Character Death, absence of fluff, everything will be alright in the end (mostly), lesbians and bullets don't mix, rework of a previous fic because I can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-06-04 04:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 67,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6641758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalAlcy/pseuds/OriginalAlcy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Lexa Woods has just one night left in Sin City before she gets the hell out. However fate has other plans. As she waits in the rain for the night to be over, she doesn't know that her life is about to change forever - all because of a kid by the name of Clarke Griffin. The 100/Frank Miller AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fast Track to an Early Grave

**A/N:** This fic is based on Frank Miller's ultra violent noir comic books. Plot elements from _That Yellow Bastard_ and _The Big Fat Kill_ have been weaved with my own. It was originally written for different characters in another fandom and this version was just the result of me playing around, not intended to be published. However I realised that this universe really suits these characters, and, after some rewrites and significant edits, I thought I'd share it.  

Lexa's voiceovers are in **bold text.**

 **Chapter Warning:** If you're at all triggered by mentions of child abduction (absolutely nothing explicit in here) or the events of 307, please be careful about reading this. It's violent and our girls won't have an easy ride. If you're at all worried, please DM me.

 

**Chapter One**

**Fast Track to an Early Grave**

 

**There are some things in life you can't change. You're born, you live and you die.**

**Then there are the things that you have to try your damndest to change. No matter the cost, even if you happen to die along the way, you know instinctively that it will be worth it.**

**Tonight is special. It's my last night in the hellhole known as Basin City. Tomorrow I'll be winging my way to a new posting in Los Angeles. A paradise compared to this place. One more night...**

The rain continued to piss down without a single lull. The narrow ledge under which the two cops stood afforded little protection from the harshness of the elements. They were both soaked to the bone and becoming increasingly irritable.

Detective Lexa Woods tugged up the collar of her coat in an attempt to keep at least a little of the water from snaking down her neck. It barely helped.

Unable to stand still for more than a minute, she paced incessantly. **One more night**.

Somewhere in the distance a siren sounded. Lexa turned her head, filtered street light illuminated her sharp jaw line and pale skin. Her lips were rich, red and full, while her green eyes burned with a strange intensity. Most of her light brown hair was thrown back into a careless ponytail which had long since started to escape, turning into a halo of frizz.   

Her partner leaned against a graffiti covered wall behind her. Quint was a bald lump of shit who hadn't moved a muscle for the past half an hour except to feverishly light cigarettes. Everything about him emphasised the fact that he didn't want to be there. His arms were folded tightly across his chest and a look of utter resentment was frozen on his features.

Lexa couldn't care less. After tonight, she'd never have to see the asshole again.  

"Our informant was bogus. If there was any crack being shipped out of here tonight we would've seen something. We've been sulking around here for two hours in this fuckin' rain and my throat is drier than a nun's cunt," Quint rasped.

It was the kind of idiotic babble that Lexa could ignore without effort. She didn't even make the effort to glare her partner.

"Tell you what, let's call it quits and head over to Grounders," Quint tried a different tact. "There's a new girl there, her tits are the kind that you could get lost in for hours."

Lexa couldn't be bothered with this shit. Not tonight. She continued pacing the same route she had for the last two hours. All manner of rubbish and filth gave way beneath her feet. The one thing that Basin City did better than anywhere else, was to collect endless filth. Lexa took a last drag on her latest cigarette before flicking it to the ground.

Quint didn't seem to care or notice that she refused to be drawn into his conversation. He continued talking, "She's a real piece of ass that one. I'd crawl over glass to fuck her. Bet you would too."

Quint looked sideways at Lexa to see if he had provoked a reaction. She was too busy searching her pockets for her cigarettes. She scowled upon finding only one left in the damp packet.

"I wouldn't crawl over glass for my own mother. God rest her soul," Lexa replied, her face momentarily illuminated by the glow of her lighter. "And I sure as fuck don't have to crawl over glass to get laid."

"Fuckin' dykes get all the pussy." 

Lexa gave Quint a piercing glance from the corner of her eye. She had never liked the other detective. In fact, she despised him. As far as partners went, Quint was scraping the bottom of the barrel. There was nothing to be done about it. Corrupt cops, rotten to the core, were the norm in Sin City. Lexa herself was one of the rare exceptions.

_"You're on a fast track to an early grave, Woods," her first partner had told her, first day on the job._

_She'd been equally blunt in reply, "Don't really want to hang around in this city anyway."_

There were few sparks of hope in all of Basin City. It was depressing to say the least, to live in a town where even the victims were lowlife scum not worth saving. It was a rotten, shitty existence. Akin to being sentenced to hell on earth.

The rain. The bogus informant. Quint. No cigarettes. Despite the fact it was her last night, Lexa was in foul mood. Unfortunately it was shaping up to get even worse.

A small shape darted through the darkness across the road, immediately drawing Lexa's attention. She peered through the gloom and tried to make it out. It was only when the shape moved closer that she saw it was a kid. A small kid shrouded in an oversized rain jacket.

It was something of a contradiction for the tough as nails cop who appeared not to give a damn about anything, but Lexa didn't mind kids. There was something about their innocence that meant there was hope for the future of Basin City. There was still room for improvement, for them to learn and grow into something other than a dirty, rotten crook or a whore. The criminals Lexa usually dealt with were fit for nothing except a long stint in jail. With kids...there was at least a sliver of hope.

Ninety-nine percent of the time, those kids grew up to be crooks or whores anyway.

Lexa was the first (and often only) volunteer whenever a cop was needed to stand at the front of a classroom and deliver some sort of wisdom. Mostly because she hated the thought of someone like Quint lecturing kids on how to be a good citizen. What a crock.

The kid turned and Lexa saw a flash of pale skin and blonde hair beneath the hood. Her lips parted in surprise as she actually recognised the girl.  

In all her school visits, one kid stood out. Bright where the others were stupid. Interested where the others were bored and wanted only to see her gun. Clarke Griffin. A skinny kid with nothing much to her except a whole lot of light shinning right out of her face. Out of all the faces she remembered, Lexa knew that Clarke would make something decent of herself.

The only question was, what the hell was she doing out all alone on a night like this?

Lexa's foot twitched in preparation for a step forward. As she was about to move across the road to catch-up with the kid, a black Merc glided passed the two detectives skulking in the shadows. It drew to a smooth halt right beside Clarke Griffin. Lexa saw the license plate and froze.

**WALLACE**

That name sent a shiver down her spine. Everyone who lived in Basin City knew that name. To ignore it was tantamount to committing suicide. Dante Wallace wasn't just another citizen of Basin City, he was the fucking Mayor. As the Mayor of a den of vice, filth and immorality, he personified all of those sins. Half of the town's drug deals; murders and embezzlement could be traced back to him and his family in some way. Basin City PD should have had enough dirt on Wallace to jail him for a thousand lifetimes. Trouble was the evidence was never there. It disappeared. In the rare moments where it was there, it didn't stick. Like water off a duck's back.

Lexa suspected she was one of the only cops not to have any of Wallace's dirty money in her pocket.

The car door swung open just ahead of Clarke and out stepped exactly who Lexa had anticipated. The young man that emerged tossed his hair with a practised arrogance. He turned his head slightly and Lexa saw his profile - soft, almost handsome features that belonged on someone who was far less of a monster.

Cage Wallace. An innocuous sounding name...for a devil child.

A second man stepped from the drivers' door and moved around the car to open up an umbrella over Cage's head, partially obscuring him from Lexa's view. Lexa growled low in her throat. Just as everyone knew what kind of man his father was, they also knew what kind of man Cage was...or rather wasn't. Cage liked them young and pretty. The younger the better. He used them like toys and disposed of the evidence with little remorse. Lexa had been aching for years to be able to pin something on him but, as always, the evidence was never there.

**The thought of blonde-haired Clarke Griffin in the hands of that monster makes my blood boil. She's only twelve. A cute as a button kid with this stringy blonde hair and huge blue eyes that seem to fill her whole face. A good kid. There's no way that she deserves anything that monster will do to her. She's never done a thing in her life.**

**It's always the innocent ones that get hurt and I hate it when that happens. I don't care that Cage is Dante Wallace's son and that the other cops leave him to his perversions because of it. If he's going to hurt Clarke in any way, then I'm going to make him unrecognisable even to his own father.**

Quint was not completely stupid. He eventually roused himself from his boredom and saw everything - from the black Merc, to Cage Wallace stepping out, and the determined set of his partner's jaw. He knew that this was just the kind of shit that Lexa would get herself involved in without a care for the consequences. Quint had the feeling that this bitch was going to get him killed.

"So, do you want to knock off or what?" Quint interrupted Lexa's concentration on the scene unfolding before her. "Grounder's will starting to warm up. First one's on me, anything you want."

Lexa ignored Quint as though he were a fire hydrant squatting on the pavement. Instead her eyes were riveted on the car, its occupants and the little girl across the street. She couldn't hear what they were saying but Lexa could more or less guess the sickeningly sweet honey dripping from Cage Wallace's lips as he tried to entice Clarke into the car. Whatever he said had obviously not won her over as she attempted to make a sudden dash for freedom. Cage immediately reacted, reaching out to grab the scruff of her coat. He hauled the helpless girl back to him even as she continued to lash out with her hands and feet.

It was the last straw for Lexa. She reached within her coat and withdrew badge in order to display it clearly at the band of her pants. Both her pistols pressed into the middle of her back. Their weight was satisfying. She heard Quint whine desperately behind her. She had to suppress the urge to turn around and sock him in the jaw.

"Woods, this shit is none of our business! Let's get the hell out of here!" he hissed, drawing further back into the shadows.

**He's a fucking moron and I won't do him the courtesy of replying to the garbage that's spewing out of his mouth. I don't know if anyone else in this town cares, but this is my job...and what's more, it's _right!_**

Lexa stepped out into the streetlight, her coat billowing around her as she strode purposefully across the street. Her boots slammed into each puddle with the ferocity of each step. Even as rain streamed down her face, Lexa meticulously surveyed the scene in front of her. Cage Wallace was on the far side of the car, partially illuminated in the glare of its headlamps. He had Clarke by her elbow, refusing to let her go as he continued to speak to her. Lexa saw the kid shake her head vehemently.

**Nice one, Clarke. Just keep him talking and we'll have this sorted out in no time.**

Cage was undoubtedly carrying a pistol beneath the expensive leather coat he wore. His henchman was just behind him, still trying to shelter his boss with the umbrella. Lexa's keen gaze picked up the unmistakable shape of a holster at the guy's belt.

The Merc's windows were tinted and Lexa could see nothing except her own reflection; a cloaked angel of death striding towards the car. There would be at least one more goon still inside, although instincts told her to expect two. Lexa pictured them now, clad in black Armani, nervously reaching for their guns as they eyed her approach.

However Lexa analysed the scene, the odds didn't look promising. For a moment she wished she could count on Quint to back her up but the fat son of a bitch had probably hightailed it already.

The umbrella holder was the first to hear Lexa. His expression immediately shifted into a threatening scowl that clearly indicated that to move closer meant risking death. It was an expression that Lexa gave exactly the same consideration she'd just given Quint - almost none. Cage saw her next, but he didn't relinquish his grip on Clarke in the slightest. Lexa bristled at the brazenness of it all. They knew full well that they, not her, were the law in Basin City.

"Move along, bitch. Nothing to see here." The goon even barked his order like a cop.

Lexa came to a halt just a few metres away from him. She kept one eye on the car, the other on Cage Wallace and his lackey. With a casual flick, she pushed back her coat and rested her hand on the band of her pants, revealing her badge. Both Cage and the umbrella-carrying goon smirked.

"You don't want to go around flashing a little piece of metal like that," Cage laughed, hauling Clarke around in front of him. "What...you want money? A bribe? Bit short of cash to supply your drug habit?"

Lexa searched out Clarke's face. The girl was terrified, her eyes staring wide and pleading silently for help. Of all the things she was supposed to be looking at, Lexa noticed the stuffed animal Clarke clutched in one hand. Where had the kid been going this time of night with just the toy to keep her company?

"Cut the bullshit, Cage. It's not going to work on me," Lexa replied calmly.

Clarke tried to run towards Lexa but Cage switched his grip from her elbow to her hair. He jerked her backwards and Clarke cried out in pain and fright.

"I don't believe it. A wannabe hero cop. Who might I have the privilege of addressing?" Cage drawled mockingly.

"Woods," Lexa replied gruffly. She didn't care if this bastard knew her name. Her patience was wearing thin. Cage was just stalling for time by keeping her talking. "If you release the kid, I might let you go with your balls intact."

The umbrella-carrying henchman shifted, purposely revealing the holster at his belt. Lexa merely smiled lazily. Her casual air did not betray the state of tense alertness she was actually feeling. She watched the car for any sign of movement. There it was, the passenger door closest to her opened with a barely audible click. The sound almost drowned out in the rain. She'd had enough of pussy footing around.

They expected her to run. What they were going to get was judgement.

In one fluid movement Lexa reached both hands up into her coat and slid the twin Beretta's from their holsters. Metal and leather worked together, as smooth as silk. Both guns were out from beneath her coat and dealing out their deadly payloads in a mere split second. Arms as steady as steel, Lexa fired into the narrow crack created as the passenger door opened.

As soon as she had started to move, Wallace's goon had dropped the umbrella to reach for his own pistol. He was levelling it in her direction when a bullet slammed into his forehead. The umbrella clattered to the sidewalk only moments before he did. Lexa then brought both guns to bear directly on Cage. At that moment, the Merc's passenger door opened and a suited body slid partially out onto the pavement. A gun fell onto the rain-drenched street. Lexa was pleased to see that the Cage's face showed clear signs of panic.

"You're driving yourself home tonight." Lexa was soaked to the bone. It was difficult to keep her arms steady. She needed to get this over and done with. "Now hand her over."

"All this for a fucking kid?" Cage demanded in a shrill voice as he glanced down at his dead driver.

Cage's panic intensified, but he didn't relinquish his hold. Instead he picked Clarke up and held her as a shield in front of him. Lexa's jaw tightened in anger. The son of a bitch was going to do things the hard way. He was deliberately putting Clarke in the firing line and in terrible danger of being hit in the resulting cascade of gunfire. Even now she could see his free hand twitching slightly. Lexa guessed his pistol was tucked in the band of his pants.

**I can tell he's going to be stupid about it. Psychos always go that little bit too far. They never know when to call it quits. And this guy is even worse. He's been getting his own way his entire life.  
**

"I'll go as far as it takes," Lexa replied, not fazed in the slightest by the bodies lying in the rain, trying not to be fazed by the kid being used as a human shield. "Would you?"

Cage's answer was a desperate lunge for his pistol. In his haste he wasn't nearly smooth enough and brought his gun hand out too far from his body. In a heartbeat Lexa fired a single shot with precision. The bullet took his hand off at the wrist. Hand and gun fell to the pavement. Cage stared at his bloody stump for a few seconds before his mind connected with what his eyes were seeing. He finally screamed in pain and dropped Clarke. To her credit she didn't fall apart into a blubbering mess. Instead, she scrambled to her feet and ran to Lexa's side, having clearly decided that the safest place for her to be was holding Lexa's coat.

"Clarke, run over to that stoop there," Lexa indicated it with a nod of her head. "Crouch down behind the pillar, don't move for anything! Not until I say so." She pulled her phone from her pocket and handed it to the kid. "You know how to dial 911?"

Clarke nodded eagerly. Lexa watched her from the corner of her eye until she was safely hidden. A few seconds later, a white face peered out from behind the pillar as Clarke looked anxiously to Lexa.

"Clarke! What did I say?" Lexa growled firmly. This was no playground.

The blonde head disappeared back behind the pillar. Lexa was able to concentrate all her attention on Cage without worrying about Clarke. In the few seconds that her attention had been diverted, he'd summoned enough strength to prise his weapon from his fallen hand. He stood trembling with his wounded stump tucked beneath his arm. Lexa felt the strange urge to laugh at such a macabre sight, even as the bloodied weapon fired in her direction. Cage's aim was poor and the bullet merely grazed her shoulder. Lexa felt the sting, but she responded brutally by hitting both his kneecaps with a single shot from each of her Berettas. Cage screamed and collapsed to the ground as though he were a puppet whose strings had been cut. The gun clattered from his hand as he lay bleeding and sobbing in the rain.

"You bitch, you fucking bitch!" he screamed, spittle foaming at the corners of his mouth full of gritted teeth. 

Lexa calmly walked over to his side. With a firm nudge of her boot, she sent Cage's gun into the gutter where it was instantly swallowed up by the storm water. Against her better judgement, she was far from finished with the monster. She holstered one of her Berettas and kept one at hand. Kneeling down in the street, Lexa reached out and picked him up by the scruff of his neck. Cage's face was ghost white. A part of her hoped that he bled to death in the rain, but she knew she wasn't that lucky. In Sin City, the least deserving always found a way to live.

"I'm the fucking bitch?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "What about you, you sick bastard. How many girls has it been now? Twenty? More?"

She slammed him over the head with the butt of her gun. Blood immediately ran from the wound.

The burning ferocity in Cage's eyes wasn't diminished by his wounds. "More than you'll ever know, Woods...and none that you'll be able to link back to me! Does that make you feel good, you piece of shit cop?"

Lexa placed the cool barrel of her weapon against his temple with every intention of blowing his brains out. All she knew was that the bastard deserved it. The voice at the back of her mind couldn't yell loudly enough to stop her. **One more night, you fucking idiot!**

Another gun fired first. Lexa felt an aching cold radiate out from her lower back, down through her legs and up through her chest. She glanced down and saw a hole in her leather coat.

**Damn...I like this coat.**

Lexa wasn't about to give up that easily. She rolled to one side and twisted, bringing her Beretta up to fire at the rotten snake that had shot her in the back. Bang! Another bullet slammed into her left shoulder and sent her sprawling back against the pavement. Through the rain she saw a figure with a smoking gun levelled at her. The figure began to walk forward.

Lexa let out a hoarse laugh when she saw who it was. That fat son of bitch. Quint. He'd finally chosen to do something that took a little bit of guts - shooting his own partner in the back. As far as Lexa was concerned, a cop couldn't sink any lower.

"C'mon, drop the Beretta, Woods," Quint said as he shook his head.

"You know I can't do that." She knew she'd never be fast enough, but that wasn't the point.

Bang! Bang! Lexa saw Quint's gun kick twice in rapid succession. Searing pain erupted from her right shoulder and chest. Again she was knocked flat. This time, there was no picking herself up. Her sole means of defiance was to continue to grip her Beretta. Somewhere a girl was screaming, and it almost broke her. Quint advanced, keeping his gun levelled even though she was well and truly down.

Lexa remained absolutely still. She stared up at the raindrops as they fell down to earth. Illuminated in the streelight, they were actually kind of pretty.

"Should've taken up my offer of a drink, Woods. You had to try and be the hero."

Somewhere in the distance sirens blared. They were coming closer. Lexa coughed violently and felt a trickle of warm blood flow from her mouth. The rain quickly washed it away.

"You can't win against them you know, I've always known but you were always too pigheaded to accept it," Quint continued. "There was no way I was gonna let you get me killed. No friggin' way."

"There's always a day of judgement," Lexa whispered.

The sirens grew even louder. Closer. Clarke had called the cops.

**Clever kid. Nothing can happen to her now. She'll be fine and with any luck I'll be dead. Wish like hell I could've taken both these bastards with me. Quint and Wallace junior...**

Lexa was freezing. Her eyelids grew heavy. Before they finally closed shut she saw a pale face hovering over her. Clarke Griffin.

**You'll be fine, kid.**

* * *

 

**It was just my luck that I didn't die, although with four slugs in me I wasn't in good shape and damn near did. The doctors slaved over my bullet-riddled body for twelve hours and even got my heart started again after I flat lined.**

**So I'm awake and lying in this hospital bed, knowing full well that they didn't go all out to save me out of the good of their hearts. _He_ had them do it.**

Dante Wallace stood at the end of the bed, his eyes fixed on the half-dead cop lying beneath the pristine white sheets at the private hospital he'd paid for. Wallace senior wanted Lexa to know exactly who was behind her top of the line treatment and care. He talked and Lexa did her best to let the machines monitoring her condition down out the drawl.

"If you're wondering why I'm taking such good care of someone who almost killed my boy then I'm going to tell you." Dante was at the end of the bed, both hands placed on the railing as he lent forward like a buzzard hovering over a carcass.

**He must think I'm a moron. Of course I know. I have to be punished for what I did. Death's not enough.**

"I'm going to make you suffer, Detective Woods. You're going to suffer so much you'll wish you were never born. Pity you don't have any family, or I'd make them suffer as well...but not to worry," he said with a small smile. "I'll just extract more from your hide."

"Your boy's a monster," Lexa whispered weakly. She badly needed a sip of water. "I'm only sorry I didn't kill him. I'll get both of you one day."

Dante's smile became a laugh. "Not where you're going you won't."

**I really don't give a fuck, you bastard. Clarke is safe and that's all that matters.**

* * *

 

Lexa had just one other visitor. She woke to find the pale face of Clarke Griffin staring at her from the side of the bed. The wounded cop managed a small smile as the kid reached out and took her hand.

"Thank you for saving my life," Clarke whispered, her voice choked with tears.

"Clarke...what on earth were you doing out that late by yourself?" Lexa's first instinct was to scold.

Clarke ducked her head as though she thought Lexa was blaming her for what had happened. "My uncle kicked me out. I don't know what I did. He said I was taking up too much space and had to get out. I only had time to grab Mr Puddles," Clarke held up the stuffed toy which Lexa could now see was some sort of octopus. Or maybe it was a squid. Weird.

There was nothing to Clarke. How anyone could think she took up too much space was beyond Lexa. A strong gust of wind would blow the kid away.

"It's not your fault. Grown up stuff like that." Lexa tried her hardest to rise an inch from her pillows so she could see Clarke more clearly but even that simple task proved impossible. "Just promise me you won't let it get to you."

"I won't," Clarke replied with a hint of pride in her voice, her chin lifted a little higher. "I'm going to law school. I'm going to spend my life putting bad guys in jail."

Lexa laughed but it came out more like a croak. "That's not what lawyers do, Clarke."

A nurse entered the room and interrupted their conversation in a brusque voice, "Visiting hours are over, kid.

Clarke looked longingly at Lexa one last time. "Are they gonna give you a medal now? For saving me?"

Lexa smiled weakly and turned to look out the window. "Yeah. A shiny medal."

* * *

 

Lexa sat stoically in the dock, as she had done for the duration of her trial. They had already found her guilty and were now passing judgement on her.

She smiled as she remembered just how right she had been. No one could escape judgement.

**The trial is a farce. They all know I was well within my rights to kill those two crooks. Lowlife scum like that are a dime a dozen. I won't even admit that putting three bullets in Cage Wallace was heavy-handed. I don't give a fuck. I'll gladly do time for the pleasure of teaching that piece of shit a well-deserved lesson.**

**So I sit in the dock and wait for the judge to rain fire and brimstone down upon me. I look at the woman from the corner of my eye. My skin is crawling. She's giving off the vibes of someone who has been bought and paid for. My sentence doesn’t worry me in the slightest. The only concern I have is for Clarke. Who is going to look out for her now?**

**I know what the papers said about me. I scan the crowd in the gallery, dozens of them packed in to see the psycho cop. They're a pack of sheep here to get their thrills. I search for Clarke's pale little face, just to be able to see her one last time and check that she's alright. Of course she isn't here and nor should she be. She's tucked away with some nice foster family. Safe.**

**Clarke is safe and that's all that matters.**

The judge coughed slightly before she spoke to make sure she had Lexa's full attention,

"Lexa Woods, the jury having found you guilty of the aforementioned crimes, I hereby sentence you to forty years hard labour without parole."


	2. Angels in an Oldsmobile '88

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "At the trial I was judged, found guilty and sentenced to a punishment befitting my apparently heinous crime - the crime of saving a little girl’s life."
> 
> A/N: As always, Lexa's voiceovers are in bold.

**Chapter Two**

**Angels in an Oldsmobile ‘88**

 

**If you’ve never experienced a day that lasts a year, then you’ve never done hard time. I don’t just mean hard time, I mean backbreaking, soul-destroying _hard time_. **

**At the trial I was judged, found guilty and sentenced to a punishment befitting my apparently heinous crime - the crime of saving a little girl’s life. Even if I had a second shot at things, I’d do it all over again – except I’d drill that fucker Cage Wallage between the eyes instead of merely taking his hand.**

**Call me a fucking martyr but it’s with a sense of acceptance that I serve my time at Basin City Women’s Prison. It’s an innocuous name for place where they keep the scum of the earth - the female ones anyway.**

**Everything about this place is shit. The buildings, the cells, the exercise yards and the prisoners. Beyond the barbed wire, there's nothing but desert as far as the eye can see. I miss trees. I'll be an old crone when I get out, but as soon as that happens I’m going to find somewhere green. I don’t care if it’s a solitary tree and a patch of grass in some crappy little park, as long as it’s green.**

**That's a little lie I like to tell myself. I know I'm never getting out of here.**

**The only pure things in this stinking hole are the letters I get from Clarke Griffin. One beautifully crisp white envelope arrives every Wednesday morning. Clarke doesn’t use her real name or a return address. The kid’s bright and for some reason that makes me proud even though I’m nothing to her. Nothing except the screwed up cop that tried to save her life. Those letters are all I have to keep me going - the letters and the knowledge that she’s safe.**

**Time here is like hell on earth, but it was worth it. I wonder how Cage Wallace is adjusting to life as a cripple?**

* * *

 

With a grunt of exertion Lexa hefted the pickaxe up above her head, muscles straining with the effort, before bringing it crashing into the stone at her feet. The momentum of the heavy tool did most of the work but the jarring impact assaulted her already aching muscles. It felt as though her lunch break was sometime yesterday and her endurance was at its limit. With her shift nearing an end, Lexa let the pickaxe rest on the ground for a moment. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with her grimy forearm. Her shoulder's sagged slightly as she looked back and surveyed the path of rock she’d broken up over the course of the day, reflecting on the fact that it represented the course of her life over the past nine years. One rock after another. Day after day. Then she looked down at the impact those nine years had had on her body, clad as it was in a filthy t-shirt that had once been white and a pair of orange overalls which had been peeled off her shoulders and tied around her waist. No one could have ever accused her of being soft, but now her trim muscles were as hard as steel. The combination of brutal physical work and sparse diet left not an ounce of fat on her lithe frame.

Not all her fellow inmates were as hard and lean. She looked across at the small group of favoured prisoners smoking cigarettes with one of the guards. Lexa couldn't remember one of them ever lifting a pickaxe despite the fact that they were all just the same as her.  

One of the gang turned and saw Lexa staring. Her name was Nia - her sycophantic followers called her the Ice Queen - angry, ruthless, and rotten to the core. What’s more, Nia had hated Lexa’s guts from the moment she’d arrived due to one very important detail - she was responsible for putting Nia away in the first place. The woman certainly hadn’t wasted any time trying to get her revenge.

As a cop in prison, Lexa had to maintain constant vigilance every hour of ever day. It was exhausting. Only once had Nia got the better of her. Just once. Her first day in the joint.   

**I wish I can say I've pushed that day into the deep recesses of my mind. But I can't. Something like that stays with you. I remember everything. The rank smell of dirty laundry, harsh and cloying against my face. Sweat clinging to my skin. The pain and, most of all, the humiliation.**

It had not happened again. On Lexa’s second day, four of them jumped her on trash detail. There was no way in hell that she was going to submit. Armed with a stolen shiv, she’d fought like a wildcat - breaking two arms and a nose, gouging an eye, dishing out at least fifty stitches and inflicting countless bruises. She hadn’t escaped scot-free. Lexa gently ran her index finger down the left side of her forehead, tracing the thick white scar which ended at her temple. In the fray, someone had got in a good slice with a broken bottle, narrowly missing her eye. It was a small price to pay for the respect she earned from the other inmates.

Across the distance, Lexa clearly saw a cold smile on Nia's lips. She shivered involuntarily and looked away, reminding herself that the shift was almost over and it wasn't worth starting trouble. Her pickaxe slammed into the next rock with an added ferocity as she imagined that it was Nia's head. 

Several minutes later the bell rang to signal the end of the shift. Lexa found herself looking forward to the slop that they dished out at dinner. It couldn't realistically be called food, but at least it would be hot. 

* * *

 

With her leaden dinner sitting heavily in her stomach, Lexa turned in that night to the narrow cot in her solitary cell. Before lights out she withdrew Clarke Griffin’s latest letter from the concealed compartment she had painstakingly carved out behind the grill in her room. Although it was plain, ordinary paper covered in ink pen, Lexa could swear a little bit of light drifted into the room with that letter. She lay back on the pillow and unfolded the crisp white paper. For a moment or two she stared at the neat rows of handwriting that she had watched mature with age.

Lexa honestly couldn’t believe the letters had kept coming. Clarke would be twenty, maybe twenty-one. Lexa had no idea when her birthday was. She had expected the letters to stop a few months after her arrival in prison. What kind of kid maintained interest in writing letters to an inmate for nine years?

Yet they still came. Always the same meticulous style. Full of little anecdotes, humorous stories that made Lexa laugh whether or not they were made up. Clarke never said where she was or exactly what she was doing. Although the word ‘studying’ came up a lot and Lexa hoped that Clarke was realising her dream to become a lawyer. She could picture a serious young woman surrounded by a pile of heavy textbooks…but with the same stringy blonde hair and blue eyes. It was difficult to imagine her as anything else.

Lexa didn’t expect to ever see Clarke again, but the letters were a godsend. 

* * *

 

The next day Lexa looked at the day's work assignments. It came as a relief that she was back on rock detail. Although it was exhausting, backbreaking work, it was a chance for fresh air and a small measure of solitude. She supposed she ought to thank Date Wallace for making sure she served her punishment to the letter.

She waited for the bus in the bleak prison yard with the other prisoners, her overalls pulled up over her shoulders against the early chill of morning. For some reason the driver seemed to be focused on her. She was some new woman Lexa had never seen before. All Lexa could see was a pair of thin red lips beneath the shadow of her cap. Lexa ignored her. Most of the prisoners stood around smoking fistfuls of cigarettes. Lexa stood patiently and daydreamed of being in Los Angeles.

Nia and her gang of thugs joined the assembled crowd. Predictably they threaded their way through it to stand beside her. Lexa ignored them as well. It didn't last long. Nia clearly had something to say. The woman made a point of checking that the guards were up front talking to the driver and partially obscured by the throng. Lexa sighed perceptibly as two of her goons took up position on either side of her, hemming her in. She couldn’t stand crooks that lacked imagination. 

“Lovely morning isn't it, Lexa." Although it wasn't prison convention, Nia always used Lexa's first name, lingering over the syllables as though they were lovers as opposed to enemies. "Sleep well?”

Nia spoke in a well-rounded, deep voice that clearly indicated she had come from money. And she had - filthy money her family had earned as a slum landlords, and even filthier money earned through trafficking crack cocaine. After over a decade in prison, Nia's face was heavily scarred. At least one of which was Lexa's handiwork.

“Probably feel asleep reading her love letters,” another women standing in front of Lexa sneered. 

Lexa always fell asleep reading Clarke’s letters. She kept her eyes on her boots - noting that they were in definite need of a polish.

“Indeed,” Nia seized on this point and ran with it. “Who are they from? Some little rich slut up in Sacred Oaks? Telling you she still loves you when she’s really out getting fucked by some fat cat lawyer. No one waits for crim serving a forty year sentence.” 

Lexa lifted her head and met Nia’s ice-like stare with one of her own. She couldn’t keep her mouth shut any longer. “I'm just the same as you, Nia. No one on the outside gives a fuck about me.” 

Nia growled low in her throat. That wasn’t the way anyone spoke to the Queen and Lexa knew it - didn't mean she cared though. Like lightning, Nia's thin fingers shot out and grabbed a fistful of Lexa’s hair. Nia yanked Lexa’s head back at a painful angle and lent over her. Lexa averted her eyes so she didn’t have to stare at directly at the older woman's scarred face, Nia grabbed her chin and forced her to look.

“Those letters in my prison, so they’re my business!” spittle flecked at the corner of Nia's mouth.

 **As her breath assaults me I reflect on my bad luck. Why do I always get the complete and utter psychos for enemies? They’re dangerous, far more dangerous than a sane person. Unpredictable too. You never know what they’re gonna pull. It could just as easily be a knife in the guts...and everything would be all over, just as simple as that.**

“Could it be that they’re from a young woman by the name of Clarke Griffin?" Nia clearly enjoyed seeing the way Lexa’s eyes widened with shock. They widened even further when Nia withdrew a thick wad of white paper from inside her coveralls. Nia regarded the letters for a moment before shoving them in Lexa’s face. “There’s a whole lot more where these came from too. Smart girl though, not signing her own name.” 

Nia whacked Lexa across the cheek with the letters just to rub it in even further. The thugs laughed mockingly, the raucous sounds grating in Lexa’s ears. Lexa watched the letters move in Nia's hand, wanting only to have them returned to her but knowing full well they were now gone forever. 

**They’re only paper, you coward. Only paper. They can’t hurt you.**

Nia continued her taunting, “I have a few friends on the outside that would love to pay a visit to Clarke. In fact, I expect to be hearing back from them any day now. Maybe they’ll bring me a few souvenirs of their fun?”

Lexa let out an angry roar as she ripped her hair free from Nia's grasp. Ignoring the pain, she made to charge at her tormentor. Instead she was seized from either side in vice-like grips, nails digging into her flesh through the material of her overalls.

Nia balled up her fist and, with a grunt of effort, drove it straight into Lexa’s stomach. Lexa doubled over instantly and at the same moment the thugs released their hold on her. She fell face first into the gravel but did not utter a sound. Nia pounced on her within seconds, turning Lexa's face so her cheek was pressed hard into the gravel. Someone else stood on her cheek, grinding the sole of their boot into her face.

Defiant even though her position hardly warranted it, Lexa glared up at Nia. A laugh bubbled from her throat. “Do you think I’d have any use for a stack of paper other than to wipe up the shit that comes out of your mouth?”

Nia's eyes bulged with a cold fury. With an indignant glare at Lexa, she passed the letters up to a member of her gang who was standing behind her with a lighter. With a look of malice, the woman set fire to a corner of the wad and let them fall to the gravel. Lexa was forced to watch her only source of optimism go up in flames, all the while pretending not to give a damn about it.

“Consider the others torched as well.” Nia ground her knuckles into the back of Lexa’s head before she leant down close to her ear and hissed, “You'll never make it out of here alive. The next time you’re alone and your back is turned, if you step into a dark shadow, if you relax your guard to so much as scratch your ass, you’re dead.” **  
**

**I could yawn. If I had a dollar for each time I had to listen to that threat…well, let’s just say I’d be set for life when I finally get out. This time however, something’s different and I know it. Nia has new orders - get rid of me as soon as possible. Make me suffer, but make me dead.**

“Looking forward to it,” Lexa whispered as the boot was removed from her cheek.

The guards were starting to move through the throng, organizing the work detail into lines to file onto the bus. Lexa felt a rough hand seize the back of her overalls and she was hauled back to her feet. Nia’s thugs brushed the gravel from her overalls as though it had all been a bit of sport. They were smiling with their arms around her shoulders as the guards walked past. Like old friends. 

They eventually let go of Lexa to let her join the file which was moving onto the bus. As she shuffled towards the door, Lexa kept her narrowed eyes on Nia’s back. 

**Let them come. One thing I know for sure, I’m gonna take that icy bitch straight to hell with me.**

* * *

 

The shift passed uneventfully. Lexa worked her heart out as usual and took her seat on the bus bound for the prison. She was covered in the day’s dirt, starving and exhausted. Feeling unusually reflective, she regarded herself in the window. Her pale skin was covered with dust and dried sweat, but underneath she still recognised the woman she had been nine years ago. 

Lexa was approaching thirty-four. Even in prison, the passing of years had done little to her face. Her cheeks were a little leaner and her skin slightly weathered, but her jaw was just as determined and her eyes even harder. She’d never been vain - what cop could afford to be? - but she remembered the way her younger self had captivated women. She had been a rookie cop with an air of invulnerability; aloof and unreachable. Lexa had played on it for all it was worth and by god had it worked. 

It hadn’t lasted long, after a few years she let the corruption and sin that ran rampant through the police force, not to mention the City itself, get to her. Lexa remembered the last relationship she’d been in - a whirlwind of a ride with an up and coming young actress. It had been in all the papers - the fact that an actress had been involved in a lesbian fling with a rookie detective made for good gossip. It had guaranteed front-page news for months. The starlet had eventually given up and walked out on her, blaming everything on Lexa’s dark moods and increasing anger at the world around her. Lexa hadn’t bothered to argue. She knew it was the truth.  

They played her ex-lover's movies at the prison every now and then. Sundays were movie nights. All the dykes loved the actress. Lexa sat and watched the films as though she were watching one of her own dreams, but they always left her feeling cold and empty. 

Now there was just prison. Breaking rocks and having her soul sucked out through every pore in her body. And now she no longer had Clarke's letters. 

“Wonder what slop they’re serving up tonight?” Lexa’s seatmate spoke in a weary voice. 

Lexa had no interest in chit-chat, but her lips moved of their own accord. “What day is it today?” she asked in a voice that didn't sound like her own. 

“Tuesday I think,” the other woman replied.

“Beef casserole.”

Her seatmate laughed and remarked with scorn. “You mean that shit they pretend is beef casserole, I used to feed my dog better crap than that.”

Lexa didn’t argue. “Trouble is, it started tasting good a long time ago.” 

**Not to mention wondering whether it will be my last meal.**

The other woman laughed. “Still hate to think what’s in that shit.”

Lexa didn’t reply to the comment. She was too busy staring up at the road ahead where something was blocking the road. As the bus ground to a rather screeching halt she realised the roadblock was a beaten up Oldsmobile '88. The prisoners were talking animatedly amongst themselves as they guards stood with their weapons at the ready. 

At first the car appeared to be empty. There was no sign of movement from the car. One of the guards exited the bus, a heavy 12 gauge at the ready in her hands. The other two remained alert and scanned their surrounds for any hint of trouble while the driver was on the RT, calling it in. The prisoners were craning their necks to look out the window, always thirsty for a break from routine. 

What happened next was too fast for most eyes. Lexa saw it all clearly. The attack came not from the car but the rocks on the right side of the road. Something smashed through the window, narrowly missing the driver and taking out a guard, ripping through her neck with deadly accuracy. When it came to a halt, embedded in the side of the bus just in front of her, Lexa's eyes widened in surprise. It was a fucking throwing star.   

The guard outside merely had time to begin to lift her weapon when a dark shape moved from the evening shadows and ripped her to pieces with a pair of swords. The remaining guards raised their weapons and fired from the open door, the shape darted away and the shot only struck gravel. As both guards pumped their shotguns to fire a second time, the driver stood up, drew a .44 magnum from the holster at her waist and fired twice. One guard fell backwards down the stairs, her shoulder a mass of ruptured flesh and bone. The other dropped in the aisle, killed instantly with a giant hole in her forehead, her brains sprayed all over several prisoners.

The driver pulled off her cap and tossed it to one side, shaking out a mass of wavy, dirty blonde hair from beneath it. It fell about her shoulders like a cape. Her eyes burned as she trained her weapon on the heckling prisoners. All clamoured to be set free. Lexa just sat like a stone, idly wondering whether the woman was there to kill her. There was a groan of pain as the wounded guard was pulled from the stairs and thrown unceremoniously out onto the road. Another woman boarded the bus, clad head to toe in blood spattered black leather, carrying two bloodied swords in her fists. Her black hair sat like a cap on her head and even Lexa was unnerved by the absence of any emotion in her dark eyes. She sheathed one sword at her waist and tossed a set of keys to the driver. 

Lexa’s eyes widened when the woman raised her other sword and pointed directly at her. That answered her question - they were there to kill her. The driver then unlocked the grate that separated the guards from the prisoners. With her magnum still clutched in her fist, the woman strode purposefully towards Lexa, ignoring the pleas of the other prisoners to be set free. She stopped, standing to Lexa, lazily twirling her magnum on her finger. Lexa’s seatmate retreated as far back into her seat as she could with a look of stark terror on her face. 

“You Lexa Woods?” she asked bluntly. 

Lexa studied the woman’s face - seemingly innocent blonde curls framing a scarily intense gaze. For once in her life she was almost speechless. She managed to find a little of her customary swagger somewhere.

“Depends, are you here to kill me or get me off this damn bus?” Lexa wasn’t even sure which option she preferred. 

The woman smiled. “The latter, although if you ask any more questions I'll happily introduce you to my little friend here.” 

Faced with the barrell of the .44 magnum, Lexa simply held up her restrained hands.

In a matter of seconds, Lexa’s shackles were off. In the process her seatmate was freed but she just sat in her seat, too terrified to move. Lexa felt distinctly odd as she walked down the aisle, trying her best to ignore the heckling that was being screamed out from behind her, mostly from Nia and her cohorts. As she moved off the bus, she didn’t even dare look back at the woman that had so mercilessly tormented her for the past nine years. She could picture the twisted, malicious face in her mind anyway. Her feet crunched on the gravel and as she moved away from the bus she was stuck by the sudden and rather frightening realisation that she was free. Lexa stopped walking and stared at the two strange women climbing into the Oldsmobile. She had absolutely no idea who they were and what they wanted with her. For all she knew it could be Dante Wallace’s twisted way of giving her hope and then snatching it away in the blink of an eye. 

“Hey!” the brunette shouted, paused about to climb into the driver’s side. “The goons will be on their way! Are you coming or would you rather go back to prison?" 

Lexa decided that any sniff of hope was better than rotting in prison. There was no way she was going back.

She ran towards the car as its engine flared into life. No sooner had she opened the door and thrown herself inside, the wheels spun furiously and launched the Oldsmobile down the road. Lexa allowed herself one last look back at the bus behind her. It was only when she faced the front and settled back into the leather seat that she realised her heart was beating as though she had just run a mile. 

She regarded her rescuers…if they could even be called that. 

“Who I am supposed to thank for this?” Lexa asked. 

The dark-haired woman immediately swivelled in her seat, delivering a piercing stare. A thin sheen of sweat covered her rich skin. A predator personified. Lexa regretted asking anything. 

The blonde looked in the rear vision mirror and smiled to reveal a set of pearly white teeth beneath her thin lips. She was stunningly beautiful in a hawk-like way. “Don’t be offended. Indra doesn't really talk except with those blades of hers. She says a hell of a lot with those. I’m Anya.” 

Lexa offered a taut nod in response. "Why?” The rest of the sentence went unspoken. Further words were redundant. _Why risk yourselves to rescue a complete stranger?_

Anya kept her eyes on the road ahead but she reached for an object in the glove box. “Don’t get me wrong, Woods, you seem nice, but I would never do this for you. I’m doing it as a favour for a good friend. She made me promise to give you this as soon as I could.” 

Anya tossed an object back at Lexa. She caught it clumsily and stared at the strange, orange, furry object in bewilderment. She recognised it immediately. It was a squid. The last time she had seen it was in the hands of a blonde kid standing beside a hospital bed talking to a wounded cop. 

_“I only had time to grab Mr Puddles."_

* * *

 

“You have the nerve to come in here and tell me that fucking dyke that crippled my little boy has escaped!” 

Three grown men quailed beneath the fury of the individual standing in front of them in an impeccably tailored suit. Dante Wallace strode forward and delivered a back handed slap to the man nearest him. The unfortunate man's eyes watered as Dante snatched his chin and dug his nails into the flesh of his face.

“Mr Wallace, Your Worship, it was unexpected,” he croaked desperately. “We had no idea!” 

“You had no idea?” Dante parroted in a mocking tone. “You fucking morons. It’s your job to have an idea!” 

He released his hold with a disgusted snort and strode back to his massive desk. Dante sat, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples as though he had a fierce headache.

The past nine years had affected him little, other than stretching his thin skin even more tautly over his skull and claiming more of his white hair. Dante selected a grape from the bowl in front of him and bit down savagely. 

“Lexa Woods was supposed to die in that prison!” he raged, spitting out the grape pips onto the floor where a hovering servant immediately scooped them up. “I don’t ask for much from you but I did ask this one little thing. Just how hard is it to knock off an inmate doing hard labour that no one gives a fuck about?”

“We had it planned on the inside-” one began pitifully.

Dante picked up a second grape and threw it at the moron, hitting him on the forehead. “Well you’ll need to change your plans won’t you? I want her good and dead by tomorrow you hear? Now get the hell out of my office!”

With a chorus of ‘Yes, Your Worship’ the three men scurried as fast as possible from his presence.

He called out at their retreating backs, “I still want her to suffer mind you! Make sure she does!”

With an almighty huff, Dante leaned back again, an immense scowl completely ruining his handsome features. His attention turned to the framed photograph sitting in a prominent position on his desk. Taken over a decade ago, it showed his younger self standing proudly with his arm around the shoulders of a handsome young man. His son. Dante's jaw tightened in anger.

He silently vowed that Lexa Woods would come to rue the day she had messed with the Wallace family.

 


	3. In Deep Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I had expected to find Clarke Griffin exactly the same as I had left her - a skinny, bookish twelve-year-old kid.  
> Instead she's dancing around a pole on a fucking stage. And she sure as hell doesn't look like a kid anymore."

**Chapter Three**

**In Deep Shit  
**

 

**My rescuers have taken me straight to Old Town - the prostitute's quarter where the Ladies are the only law. I should have known that's where they would run to. Where else could you go with an escaped prisoner wanted dead by the most powerful man in the city?**

**As we drive through the streets of Old Town I study the two women sitting up front with a deep feeling of unease. Cops never go into Old Town unless they have cash to spend and are looking for the kind of 'favours' the ladies bestow. I've never been here for pleasure. I don't see the point of paying for sex when there are enough women out there willing to give it away.**

**I look at my rescuers in a new light. However benevolent they have been towards me, they are ruthless women solely concerned about protecting their own people and interests.**

**The Oldsmobile grinds to a halt outside the foulest looking joint I have ever seen and Indra exits the car without so much as a word. Doesn't say much that one. Anya asks if I'm coming and I nod. I look at the name above the bar - _Grounder's_. I make an educated guess as to what goes on inside a joint like this.**

"You might wanna chuck this on." Once out of the car, Anya tossed Lexa a long leather jacket. "Cover up those prison digs."

Lexa glanced down at herself. She had been so busy savouring her newfound freedom that she forgot she still wore her dirty prison-issue overalls. She accepted the coat with a nod and tugged it on, drawing it tightly around her. Lexa then glanced up at the flashing neon sign that spelt out 'Grounder's' in an incessant, pulsating rhythm. With her eyes unused to such bright lights, Lexa quickly turned and followed Anya. The doorway was little more than a hole in a brick wall. It was watched over by a muscle bound bouncer, every visible part of his body covered in tattoos, including his shaven head and face. Lexa reached out and grabbed Anya's elbow before they entered.

"What?" Anya snapped over her shoulder, looking as though she was impatient to be inside.

Lexa held back from entering Grounder's, her hands firmly on her hips. "How the hell does Clarke Griffin know people like you? She's a good kid. She'd never be mixed up in your sort of game."

"Our sort of game?" Anya asked in a low voice.

Anya stopped in her tracks and stepped out of the entranceway, a hard stare on her face. It was a stare Lexa met and returned in kind. Both women instinctively knew they were of a similar disposition - tough women used to being in situations that called for them to be blunt, abrasive and uncompromising. Although where Lexa had chosen to uphold the law, Anya had proudly ignored, flaunted and broken it.

Anya eventually spoke, keeping her tone low and threatening. "You've been away for nine years, that's an awful long time in someone's life and an awful lot you've missed out on. Me, Indra and the other Ladies, we were here for Clarke. So don't judge us when you've got no clue what you're talking about!"

To emphasise the last point, Anya jabbed Lexa hard in the chest with the tip of her index finger. Lexa wasn't about to take any of that shit, even from Anya. With both hands she grabbed Anya by the collar of the guard uniform and, with a violent heave, threw the other woman up against a nearby wall. She met Anya's outraged glare with an intense one of her own and kept a firm grip.

"Don't underestimate how much I care about Clarke Griffin. If I find any of you have harmed her in any way then I'm going to personally-"

"You're gonna what?" Anya interrupted with a menacing scowl. "You're alone on my turf. I could personally make you wish you were back in prison with just my bare hands."

"I beg to differ," Lexa hissed in reply, knowing full well as she sized Anya up that the threat was ambitious. "You think you scare me? Nothing you could ever do to me would compare to that place. The most powerful man in this town wants me dead so I really couldn't care less about you or your gang of whores!"

Lexa watched the play of emotions across Anya's face - eyes narrowed with outrage, lips set into a tight, thin line. Lexa looked down she knew she would see Anya's fists clenched. Slowly however, Anya's facial muscles relaxed.

"Listen, Woods, you should really shut up while there's still time for us to be friends." Anya's teeth were slightly gritted as though she was trying really hard to be polite.

Lexa's eyebrows raised, she had expected a fist to the face as opposed to an offer of friendship. "Why would I want that?"

Anya sighed as though Lexa were profoundly stupid. "Because we both have the same interest at heart. We both want to protect Clarke. And unless I'm very much mistaken this 'gang of whores' as you so charmingly called us, are the only allies you have at the moment."

Anya was completely right but that didn't mean that Lexa was simply going to play by the rules. She waited a few moments before releasing her hold. She couldn't bring herself to appear weak in the slightest.

"I lost all my good manners in prison," was all Lexa offered by way of apology.

Anya didn't seem to mind, she merely shrugged. "You need a drink to loosen up that stick in your ass."

Anya ushered her inside beneath the baleful glare of the bouncer. Once inside, Lexa ran her eyes over the joint. The interior matched its exterior. It was a dirty, low ceilinged room where the only real source of light hovered above a stripper dancing on a stage in the centre of the room. The patrons who frequented the establishment weren't a pretty bunch.

Lexa entered cautiously, although it was clear that no one was in there for the purpose of drawing attention to themselves. Most gave her a quick glance and returned to downing their drinks and watching the stripper longingly. She half wondered if she'd run into any of them before in her previous incarnation, however long ago that seemed.

"Here, drink this. Might improve your mood."

Anya thrust a double measure of whisky towards her. Although she still didn't trust Anya, Lexa took the proffered drink and downed it in one gulp. It had been too long since she'd felt the satisfying burn in her throat and gut.

Lexa ran her eyes back over the crowd, scanning for potential threats. She saw a sea of leather and tattoos. Her gaze passed over the stage with its lone stripper and finally back to Anya who was nodding her head appreciatively. Whether at the music or the stripper, Lexa couldn't say. With god-awful music thudding between her ears, Lexa suddenly felt every bit as drained as she had on the bus. A part of her wanted to get the hell out, but her survival instincts told her that she wouldn't last half a day out there alone. By now Cage Wallace would have been informed that someone had broken her out. She was a hunted woman with a target on her back a mile wide.

"What are we doing here?" Lexa had to shout in order to be heard over the music that filled the room.

Anya looked at her and smirked. She nodded towards the stage. "Just watch the show."

"Not interested."

If only to confirm the fact that she had no interest in watching some whore flaunt her oversized tits and plastic ass, Lexa obliged. The bored sneer on her face served to remind anyone that cared that she didn't want to be here. That this wasn't her thing.

The stripper's blonde hair whirled about her face, obscuring her features from view for a moment. Even before recognition fully dawned, Lexa's sneer disappeared, replaced by an expression of slack-jawed astonishment. The spotlight fell on flawless, pale skin. There was only one word on Lexa's lips.

"Clarke."

**I had expected to find Clarke Griffin exactly the same as I had left her - a skinny, bookish twelve-year-old kid. Instead she's dancing around a pole on a fucking stage. And she sure as hell doesn't look like a kid anymore.**

Lexa watched transfixed as Clarke's body gyrated around the pole in front of her. When she noticed what Clarke was wearing - or rather the lack of it - she was torn between her desire to continue watching and the desperate need to look away. Clarke's lithe legs were clad in a pair of black leather chaps so tight they seemed to be a part of her. Beneath them she wore black underwear. When Clarke spun around, Lexa saw it was a g-string revealing a creamy white, perfectly formed ass. Lexa felt a hot wave pass through her body, culminating in an uncomfortable warmth in her stomach. She couldn't stop herself as her gaze moved up over the bare skin of Clarke's taut stomach. A thin black leather bra barely covered her breasts.

As Clarke danced she trailed a finger down her perfect cleavage. Lexa had to reach out and grab the back of a nearby chair to keep from falling to the ground. She knew she needed to get the hell out of the club.

The only problem was Lexa couldn't move. Clarke's small red lips were opened in a tantalising pout, breaking into a small grin every now and then as she drew appreciative comments from the crowd. Her eyes were closed as though she were imaging herself somewhere else for a moment, however, when she opened them, the blue sparkled. Then there was her hair - the golden blonde waves were both innocent and brazen at the same time. Clarke's hair fell down to the small of her back and Lexa could almost imagine running her fingers through it.

**Everything about her is perfect, from the way her hair falls about her body as she works that pole, to the curves of her perfect tits. I realise that I don't know this young woman and I have no clue why after all this time she would want to remember me.**

**Of course. You moron. She wants to repay you for saving her life. That's all. She's grateful, she's helped get you out of that place, helped get your life back…and now you need to get on with living it. It will be awkward seeing her, thanking her but there's no way she'll know what's going on in your filthy head.**

**But the thoughts won't stop. The way I'm looking at Clarke…it's nothing but trouble.**

**Just get out of here. Write her a 'thank you' card later.**

Lexa took one last, lingering look at Clarke up on stage. Using every bit of willpower she possessed, she spun on her heels and made a beeline straight for the door. One foot after the other, keeping her eyes fixed on the escape route. That's all she needed to do. Out there she’d likely find death, but it was preferable to remaining in the club.

 _Turn around_. It seemed to take an age to reach the door. The crowd pressed around her. Lexa stopped and bit her lip. One more glance. It was a burning desire that wouldn't quit. Just one more glance. Then she'd be out of Clarke's life one way or another. Feeling both sick and exhilarated at the same time, Lexa looked over her shoulder.

It was both the best decision and the worst mistake Lexa had ever made.

Of all the faces in the club, as though there was some invisible force between them, Clarke looked directly at her. Lexa held her breath, hoping that Clarke’s gaze would simply pass over her, disregarding her as just another desperate patron. Everything came undone at the moment that Clarke’s lips moved in an unmistakable way – mouthing Lexa’s name. The surprise on Clarke’s face vanished, replaced by joy as a smile took over her whole face. Ignoring the music and the disgruntled protests at the interruption to the show, Clarke leapt off the stage and forced her way through the crowd. Lexa knew that she needed to run, but her boots were stuck to the floor until it was too late. Until she was hearing her name emerge as a breathy whisper from Clarke’s lips.

Without further reservation Clarke surged forward, throwing her arms around Lexa’s neck.

A myriad of sensations assaulted Lexa. Not just Clarke’s physical presence in her arms but her smell – sweat mixed with some kind of intoxicating perfume - and the fierce warmth that encompassed their bodies. Lexa tried to draw away, but Clarke's face filled her vision. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to look Clarke in the eye. Lexa could stare down a two-hundred pound inmate, but she couldn't hold the gaze of a young woman with devilishly blue eyes. The situation was made a thousand times worse when Clarke kissed her. Warm, soft lips smothered her own that had been rendered dry by too much sun. Lexa’s knees almost buckled beneath her as, for a glorious second, she surrendered. Then the moment was gone and Lexa remembered what she was. When Clarke tried to deepen the kiss, Lexa gently pushed her away.

"Clarke.” She’d intended it to sound forceful, even angry. Instead she spoke in a hoarse whisper.

Clarke was gazing up at her with a rapt expression that clearly spelt out trouble. Smiling again. Stroking Lexa’s cheek for a moment before drawing away. "Give me a minute to go put some clothes on. Anya will take us home."

"Clarke!" Lexa’s second protest was louder, but Clarke either ignored her or couldn’t hear.

Lexa felt her heart skip more than several beats as she watched Clarke walk away. She noticed how the crowd parted to let Clarke through, almost respectfully. Clarke turned and glanced back at Lexa over her shoulder, flashing a dazzling smile. Lexa swallowed. As Clarke disappeared from sight, Lexa turned away, struggling to catch her breath.

It was just her luck that she caught Anya's eye.

Anya delivered long, hard stare that needed no accompanying words. Lexa swallowed again. A part of her wished she was back in prison where everything at least made sense.

* * *

 

**Ten minutes later, I find myself once again in the backseat of the Oldsmobile on my way to god knows where. Although I'm damned relieved to be out of that joint, the memory of what I saw in there plays incessantly in my mind. I try to shake the image of Clarke Griffin wearing provocative leather clothing and dancing around a pole in front of a room full of men but it's well and truly stuck.**

**And that's not even what really worries me. I see her perfect breasts, the creamy white skin of her ass and the way her hair falls around her face and upper body. My heart beats faster, my mouth goes dry and I know that, more than anything else, I want her.**

**I want her and it terrifies me.**

Clarke was sitting next to Lexa on the back seat, brimming with an unspoken energy. The young woman had changed out of her stage costume into jeans and a hoodie that was several sizes too big for her. White trainers peeked from beneath her jeans. Make-up had been hastily scrubbed from her face, leaving her cheeks pink. Clarke barely resembled the woman that had been dancing. 

Lexa's alarm bells rang when Clarke scooted across the space that separate them, burrowing into the crook of her arm as though she belonged there.  

"Clarke. I stink like a pig.”

Lexa was embarrassed. The prison's filth still clung to her like an ugly blanket. She couldn’t bring herself to push Clarke away, settling for staring out the window.

"I've been waiting for this day for nine years,” Clarke replied seriously. “I don’t care that you stink."

“You should,” Lexa kept her voice tight, emotionless.

"Hey. If you’re not going to look at me you can at least listen to me. I missed you. The thought of you locked up in that prison was making me sick – every damn day. Those guys you saved me from? They were scum who deserved what they got.”

Lexa wanted Clarke’s words to wash over her without effect. Instead she closed her eyes, thinking only of the fact that Clarke had spent every day thinking about her.

“From the moment I met Anya and Indra I was begging them to rescue you,” Clarke continued. “We would have come sooner but you have no idea how long it takes and how many bribes you have to dish out to get someone on the inside in a prison. I still don't know how Anya managed to pull off a disguise as a prison guard."

"Hey!" Anya interrupted, breaking Clarke's one-sided conversation. "Look how butch I am for fuck's sake!"

"You're not as butch as you think you are…or as tough," Clarke retorted in a warm voice. She reached up front and laid a hand on Anya's shoulder. "Thank you for getting her out."

"Only for you, Griffin," Anya replied. As she said it she met Lexa's eyes in the rear vision mirror and gave her another of her long, hard stares. "Only for you."

Anya returned to focusing her attention on the road. Their stop had obviously come up faster than expected as she slammed on the brakes and wrenched the steering wheel hard to the right. The car slid violently, sending Clarke further into Lexa's lap.

When all was still again, the car had ground to a halt in front of a large, formerly opulent building which was now verging on being rundown. Most of the letters above the doorway had fallen off. The ones remaining only spelt out a nonsense word - ‘ _Polis_.’

Clarke made absolutely no attempt to move. For a few moments Lexa simply stared. She longed to reach down and brush the stray strand of hair that had fallen over Clarke's eyes. She was poised to do so when the car door beside her opened suddenly and she glanced up to see Anya holding the door open. Biting her lip, Lexa gently prised herself out from beneath Clarke and exited the car. She offered a hand to help Clarke out but Anya pushed her out of the way. Lexa was left to follow them inside, with Indra bringing up the rear. She couldn't help but feel that the assassin's fingers were twitching on the grip of her katana.

Added to the threat from behind, two gorgeous women stood on either side of the door. Their scanty leather attire didn’t mask the fact that they meant business and obviously knew how to use the Uzi's in their hands. They welcomed Anya, Indra and Clarke with warm greetings but watched Lexa through wary eyes.

Anya released Clarke's hand as they moved into the entranceway and turned to Lexa. "Welcome to Polis."

Lexa gaze roved down at the black and white tiles that covered the floor, up at the massively vaulted ceiling above her and around at the dominating, solid wooden staircase that climbed upwards. She was obviously standing in the lobby of an old hotel. There was very little furnishing beyond a few leather couches that had seen better days. In fact, the whole establishment had seen better days. It was dimly lit and smelled of a combination of piss, vomit, and cigarette smoke. It was better than anywhere Lexa had ever lived.

"It's nice," she shrugged, hoping that it had somewhere she could wash and sleep.

A smartly dressed young woman welcomed the small gang home from behind the desk to one side of the lobby. She wore a plain, almost conservative white shirt and her hair was pulled back into an even plainer ponytail. It was only when she stepped out from behind the desk that Lexa saw she was wearing a leather skirt so short it ought to have been a belt. The curve of each buttock protruded from behind it, showing off her pink panties. Her high heels showed off an exceptionally lithe leg and a pair of very slender ankles. She moved to embrace Clarke with a warm smile.

"Hey, Octavia. How's business?" Clarke asked, giving the other girl a warm hug.

"A little slow tonight," Octavia shrugged. She then turned to regard Lexa with a wry smile. "Who's your new friend? She looks kinda dirty…in a good way."

"Ah, O, this is Lexa…you know _the_ Lexa," Anya answered quickly, nodding discreetly in Clarke's direction.

"Oh!" Octavia's face broke into an all-knowing smile.

Lexa glanced around at each of the women's faces to see them all sharing knowing glances. She was unnerved to see that even Indra had something that might have been a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Who said business has been slow tonight?" a rather brash voice sounded from the lower landing of the stairs and all eyes turned to see the newcomer. "I've certainly been busy enough."

Lexa's eyes widened at the sight of a scantily clad female making her way down the staircase in a pair of red pumps. The pumps matched her red garment, which appeared to be little more than a silk nightdress. Whatever it was, it was barely held up over her breasts by two thin straps and the length left little to the imagination.

“Polishing your gun collection isn’t business, Raven” Octavia shot back. “Guns aren’t paying clients.”

An angry snort escaped Raven’s lips and she shunned Octavia instead of rebutting the argument. She turned her attention to Lexa who stuck out like a sore thumb. Raven crossed the short distance that separated them and stood in front of her with one hand on her hip. She ran her tongue over her teeth as she looked Lexa up and down, showing off her lipstick which was as bold as her attire.

"Who's this?" she purred, her voice now throaty and husky. "Anya, babe, I still love you, but I really want to do this one…as long as she has a bath first."

"Ah, Raven…this is Lexa…Lexa meet Raven," Anya quickly intervened as Raven appeared ready to jump Lexa then and there, even without the bath first.

Raven's face quickly morphed from sultry and sexy into a rather annoyed pout as she realised she wasn't going to get her way with this dirty but mysterious newcomer.

"I suppose this is **_the_** Lexa?" she asked, looking directly at Clarke.

"Yes!" Anya and Octavia replied at the same time.

Lexa frowned as more knowing looks were passed amongst the group. She looked at Clarke. The blonde's face had gone an obvious shade of red as she appeared to want nothing more than to disappear through the floorboards.

Lexa sighed. It was all becoming too much to take in. Although more than used to a lack of sleep, this day had taken a particular toll on her emotionally. Obviously Clarke's intentions towards her went beyond thanks and friendship. Just the very thought of this was enough to make her want to run straight back out the hotel door. She didn't care how many bounty hunters would be waiting for her on the streets of Basin City, she just wanted to get away.

"Is there somewhere I can take a shower?" Lexa asked Anya. She was desperate to get away from Clarke and hopeful of finally getting to shower in private after nine years.

"Yeah, sure thing, I'll show you…and we can probably rustle you up a room away from the business end of things so it's nice and quiet," Anya nodded, their interaction earlier that evening forgotten, at least on her part.

"Make sure it's not next to Raven's room," Octavia quipped.

"Bite me," Raven growled angrily, retreating back up the stairs ahead of Anya and Lexa.

Lexa followed Anya, taking a last look at Clarke over her shoulder. The young woman had finally allowed herself to take her eyes off her feet and had been staring at Lexa's back. Clarke’s eyes widened slightly when Lexa looked at her, as though she were surprised Lexa had actually cared to look. Neither turned away, Lexa continued to stare even as she ascended the stairs.

Clarke Griffin. Lexa's lips parted slightly at the sight of her standing down in the lobby. Clarke’s expression was somewhere between guilt and hope, but all Lexa noticed was how small she was. Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted when she walked straight into Anya at the top of the landing. She looked up and met Anya's eyes defiantly.

"Eyes front," Anya said as she continued up the stairs.

* * *

 

From the doorway of her own room, Clarke watched Lexa slip out of the shower. She managed to feel slightly guilty about having stood there waiting like some sort of stalker, but it didn’t stop her staring. Lexa's hair hung in wet strands down her back. There was a single white towel wrapped around her body. Clarke watched the woman's bare legs move with a graceful, stealthy beauty. Her eyes travelled up Lexa's body to her shoulder. Shock white skin stood out clearly – one of the scars that Lexa carried because of her.

Clarke remembered that night nine years ago. She remembered watching the other cop pull the trigger. Her own tongue had frozen to the roof of her mouth in fear, leaving her unable to call out. She had suffered the guilt of knowing that she might have been able to do something, to at least warn Lexa of the danger. Instead she'd had to live with the knowledge that everything was her fault.

She waited ten minutes to give Lexa a chance to make herself decent before padding down the hallway to stand in front of Lexa's door. She was poised with her hand about to rap on the door when there was a small cough from behind her. Clarke spun around. She hadn’t noticed Anya leaning against the wall, partially obscured in the shadows.

"Give her some space, Griffin."

"But it's Lexa!" Clarke protested. _Her Lexa._

Clarke stared longingly at the door. There was so much she had to say – thank you, apologies, and hopes. Anya just crossed her arms as though there would be no debate on the matter.

"She's just got out of prison, you have no idea what that does to a person. Trust me, she'll be needing her space," Anya said softly, crossing the hall to stand just behind Clarke.

Clarke dropped her gaze to the floor and spoke in a sad voice. "But I'm the reason that she spent all those years in there."

Anya put a hand on Clarke's shoulder. "Which is why, when she's ready, she'll talk to you. But for now you have to let her be."

"Alright," Clarke whispered, allowing herself to be led away from the door. "But you don't know everything…you don't know her."

"You don't know her either," Anya was quick to reply.

Clarke snorted indignantly, stopping in the middle of the hallway to stare Anya down. "I know Lexa!"

"The last time you saw her you were a twelve year old kid, how well could you possibly know her?" Anya demanded, trying to pry Clarke out of her infatuation.

Clarke wasn't about to back down. "You wouldn't understand…and you're not-"

Anya quickly interrupted, "Yeah, I know I'm not your mother, kid, but I'm the closest thing you've ever had to one so it might pay for you to listen to me once in a while. Okay?"

Clarke bit her lip and just nodded in response. Anya half-heartedly grinned and reached out to give her a pat on the cheek.

Clarke watched Anya walk away before she turned her attention back to the door. She wanted to ignore Anya’s advice and knock regardless. Her eyes slid closed as she drew up the memory of seeing Lexa’s face in the crowd in Grounder’s. The Lexa that existed in her mind was a hero-cop – six-foot tall with a voice like sharp-edged steel. In reality, Lexa had been far smaller, filthy and exhausted. The scant handful of words that had emerged from Lexa’s lips had given away almost nothing and certainly not what Clarke had expected to hear. If she was being honest with herself, Clarke didn’t know exactly who she wanted Lexa to be.

The only thing she knew for sure was the way she felt…and in this city, that sort of feeling was damn hard to come by.

* * *

 

**I listen to the voices outside my door, not quite hearing what they're saying even though a part of me wants to. It scares me how much I enjoy the sound of Clarke’s voice. Perhaps because I can’t see her face, I don’t remember the kid she was. She’s just another woman. It doesn’t help that I hold onto the memory of the kiss.**

**As I stare at my reflection in a chipped mirror, I catch myself touching my damn lips. I drop my hand. I woke up to this face this morning when I was still in my cell. There's that same look in my eye, the same set to my jaw and that same damn scar…but something's changed.**

**I know why. Clarke Griffin. The kid saved my life…and more. Now she’s here wanting…I don’t know what the hell she wants. More perhaps.**

**I bring my fist crashing down on the edge of the duchess. I’m pleased that it hurts.**

**There can never be anything between you and her. You're an ex-cop who's done hard time for a violent act. You've got to get out of here, you need to put some distance between yourself and Clarke fucking Griffin.**

 


	4. Stuff of Dreams

**Chapter Four**

**Stuff of Dreams**

 

**I wake and my hands immediately go to my neck. There's nothing there. I only dreamt that Nia's ice cold fingers were wrapped around my throat.**

**My heart’s pounding like a freight train. I draw in a couple of deep breaths, it comes in ragged gasps as I struggle for air. Where the fuck am I? It feels like Nia's here with me, hiding in the shadows.**

**I manage to get it under control enough for me to get my bearings. I look around the room. Moonlight streams through the open blinds, chasing away most of the shadow. Nia's not here. This is not my cell. I’m not behind bars, and I think I'm safe.**

**I may be safe, but I can't go back to sleep. There’s no way I’m going back to that prison, or anywhere near that woman. Not even in my dreams.**

Dressed only in a borrowed vest and boxers, Lexa chose to walk the dark hallway beyond her room. She had no sense of direction within Polis and therefore no actual destination, she just needed to walk. Even though the halls appeared empty, Lexa knew the Ladies were watching her in the shadows. She didn’t care. Lexa almost wanted to give Polis' residents some sort of excuse to come at her with raised fists or perhaps shoot her in the back and be done with it. A fight would at least feel familiar.

As she walked her stomach let out a furious growl and Lexa realised just how famished she was. She passed more doors spaced at regular intervals along the corridor before reaching the end which terminated at a single door. It was already slightly ajar as she pushed her way through. At first her eyes met nothing but darkness. Gradually they adjusted, and she found herself in a sitting room of sorts. The squat shapes were actually a motley assortment of couches. A pool table stood on one side of the room - cues were laid atop it as though someone had just put them down. Lexa crossed the short distance to it and ran one hand over the smooth wooden sides before turning her attention to one of the windows. She, cautiously drew back the curtain to reveal moonlit rooftops and dark city streets.

Old Town looked almost pretty. The darkness hid the most depressing aspects, and the moonlight gave it a gleaming shine it didn't deserve. Lexa folded her arms across her chest as gooseflesh appeared on her skin. Lexa ignored the cold, consumed within her own thoughts.

“Can’t sleep either?” 

The quiet question startled her. Embarrassed, Lexa wrapped her arms around herself and exhaled a shallow but troubled breath. She kept her eyes fixed on the night sky beyond the window. A part of her willed the other person to leave and another part wished more than anything that they would stay.

She closed her eyes slowly in an effort to stop her heart beating at a million miles an hour before she spoke.

“Hello, Clarke,” Lexa replied quietly, opening her eyes once more.

She heard Clarke approach, stopping just behind her- far too close for Lexa to relax. Despite the fact that Clarke's presence was like a breath of fresh air, the tension returned and her arms tightened around herself. 

Lexa jumped again when she felt one of Clarke’s arms slide around her waist. Her heart thumped wildly as Clarke pressed her entire body close - tits pressed into her back, pelvis snug against her ass. For just a few seconds Lexa luxuriated in the feeling of a warm body pressed against her own. She savoured everything about it; Clarke’s warmth, hands pressed against her stomach, an unmistakable desire rising from-

“Clarke, please don’t.” Lexa suddenly twisted out of Clarke’s embrace and spun to end up standing face to face with her.

"Don't what, Lexa?" Clarke asked softly. 

Lexa shook her head defensively. She was alone with Clarke in a darkened room. Even stepping backwards achieved nothing other than backing herself up against the window. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on her. Here she was, tough as nails ex-cop who had survived nine years of hell on earth in prison, backing away from a young woman wearing a pair of stripped pyjamas several sizes too big.

Clarke continued to meet her gaze - searching, demanding. “Say something?" 

“I've nothing to say."

The ex-cop quickly resumed her former posture facing out the window, arms crossed over her chest as though she were trying to keep something in…or out. Lexa was effectively telling Clarke the truth. She had nothing to say to her because she honestly had no idea what to say.

Clarke was predictably unimpressed. “You have nothing to say in general or you have nothing to say to me?” She suspected it was probably a case of both, with an emphasis on the latter. “I don’t understand. I told you how much I’ve missed you and all I get in return is a blank stare. Surely you must realise that I-”

“Clarke, you've already repaid me. I won't ask anything more of you. What more do you want from me?”

“I want you,” Clarke replied honestly. 

Clarke had to make do with studying Lexa’s bland and expressionless reflection in the window. It was like talking to a ghost. 

It took an immense effort for Lexa to school her features into an emotionless mask. She fervently hoped that Clarke didn't notice her struggle. “You're a fucking child. You only think you want me.”

**I’m blunt because I have to be. This is the moment. If I can convince Clarke to forget about me now then I'll be free. There’s only so much of her attention that I can bear before surrendering to temptation.  
**

**I continue to stare out the window, refusing to look at her face. Clarke is silent. I hope she cries. I want to hurt her so she’ll get over this infatuation.**

“You saw me dance! I’m not a child anymore,” Clarke growled angrily. “So you can’t use that bullshit line with me.”

Lexa didn't reply straight away. Clarke's dancing was a part of the problem. The things she'd seen, she couldn't un-see. However Lexa knew she'd be in this predicament regardless. There was an undeniable connection, one that was putting Clarke's life at risk all over again. She needed to break the connection before it was too late.

“How did you end up in this sort of lifestyle?” Lexa asked quietly. 

“This sort of lifestyle?” Clarke fired the question back at Lexa. “What are you insinuating by that?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Clarke.”

“Look,” Clarke began, feeling the conversation slipping completely out of control. “I dance. I’m not a whore.

Lexa sighed sadly. “From the company you keep I would say otherwise,”

Clarke felt like screaming in frustration. Lexa’s calm, blunt and pointedly brief answers were infuriating, “What? You mean Anya, Indra, Octavia, Raven and the others? Lexa, those women are the only people besides you who had ever been kind or good to me. I love them for what they’ve done and continue to do for me.  Who they are has nothing to do with how I feel about them. They’re my _people_ and I feel safe here.”

“Here, Clarke? _Here_ is a brothel!” Lexa finally spun around to face Clarke, her voice rising for the first time. “You were supposed to go to a foster family.”

Clarke gave Lexa a look taken straight from Anya’s handbook. “My foster family kicked me out on my own when I was fifteen.”

Lexa’s jaw dropped slightly in disbelief. “Why...how could they do that?”

Clarke arched her eyebrow and replied testily, “It was all very simple really, they walked in on me fucking their daughter. I was out of there faster than they could say ‘you’re a dyke and you’re going straight to hell.’”

“Clarke please stop cussing,” Lexa whispered, struggling to maintain eye contact with Clarke. 

Lexa’s fists clenched at her side and eventually she did turn her head, pretending that she was intensely interested in the view once again. It took her a few moments to realise that she was not angry at Clarke for swearing. She was devastated to learn that the hope that she had carried for the past nine years, that Clarke had been safe, was all a lie. Clarke had never been safe. 

“Why?" Clarke demanded. She couldn't see the expression on Lexa's face. "Because it’s another reminder that I’m not a child? How many more reminders do you need? What is it going to take for me to convince you that I’m a woman and I’m in love with you? Not out of gratitude or guilt, but because you’re the most amazing woman in my life." 

**I haven’t been in her life for nine years, and before that I was barely a part of it. Now? What the fuck do you call this mess I’m in now?**

"I'm in love with you," Clarke continued. "And I think you feel exactly the same way.”

The word formed on Lexa's lips, but she couldn't say it. 

“At least you should be able to say you don’t love me," Clarke continued. "It should be pretty easy for a tough ex-cop like yourself to say those few words." 

Clarke threw down the ultimate challenge, and she knew it. As soon as the words left her lips she discreetly bit her lip, it was the most rotten trick she could have pulled on Lexa and she immediately regretted it. She reached out a shaking hand and laid it on Lexa’s upper arm. Lexa wrenched her arm away in one brutal movement. In that same movement she also wrenched Clarke’s heart. 

“Don’t do this to me, Clarke,” Lexa groaned in a small whisper. “And don’t do this to yourself.”

Lexa backed away from Clarke, hands raised in front of her, pleading for Clarke to stop hounding her while she tried to come up with the right answer. Her lips moved but no sound emerged. She eventually threw down in hands, frustrated at her inability to speak the words she wanted to say.

"Lexa..."

Clarke watched Lexa run from the room without actually physically breaking into a run. She was left standing by the window alone, wondering what the hell she had to do. Her feet itched to follow, but Clarke jumped as Lexa slammed the door behind her. Hard. Clearly indicating that she did not want to be followed.

 

* * *

 

Lexa was half way back to her hotel room when she suddenly found her path blocked by Anya, Indra and another of the ladies - an Uzi toting woman wearing a cop’s hat. Indra had in her deadly hands not only one of her katana, but also the leather collar of a jacket. The jacket was on the back of a rather defiant looking man. Indra threw him to the floor and delivered a firm kick in the small of his back to send him flying face first into the carpet. Anya then reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back so they could all get a good look at his face.

Anya looked up at Lexa. “Do you know this guy?”

“Huh?” The conversation with Clarke had sapped Lexa's concentration.

“Do you know this guy?” Anya repeated, cuffing the prisoner over the back of his head.

Lexa glanced down at the face of the man Anya held. He glared back at her defiantly. She didn’t spare him more than a second. He was a two bit crook of the type she would have packed off to the slammer in a heartbeat back when she was still a cop. He was nobody.

She shook her head. “Never seen him before. Why?”

“Says he’s got a message for you,” Anya replied.

Lexa’s eyebrows raised slightly.

The man uttered a choked laugh. “That's right. I’ve got a message for you, Lexa Woods.”

Lexa crossed the floor in two powerful strides, kneeling down in front of him. “I think we’ve gathered that already you piece of shit, now what’s the message?”

“It’s from Dante Wallace.”

“Obviously. We all know he's not setting me up on a date with his son, so what does that murdering bastard want?” Lexa felt like herself once more. This was a problem she could deal with.

“You,” he replied. 

“Seems that’s what everyone wants at the moment," Lexa muttered to herself before continuing in a raised voice, "You can tell that cunt Wallace that I'm not available.”

“He said you'd say that. He also said if you don’t hand yourself over then he’s declaring open war on Old Town. The cops will swarm here like flies on shit,” he replied, glancing up at Anya with another chuckle. 

Anya glanced across to her fellow Ladies with narrow eyes. The very thought was inconceivable. Old Town was a safe haven. The Ladies didn’t mess with the cops, and the cops didn’t mess with the Ladies. That was the law and the uneasy truce that kept the whole place hanging together. If either side stepped over the line then all hell would break loose.

“They wouldn’t dare!” the Lady wearing the cop hat hissed, gripping the handle of her Uzi with white knuckled fingers.

“And they won’t, Ontari,” Anya slammed the man’s head into the carpet and then let his hair go, wiping her hands on her jacket with a look of distaste.

**I watch Anya rise slowly to her feet. My so-called friend keeps her eyes on me the whole time. Behind her, Indra does the same. I watch that wicked looking knife in Indra's hand like my life depends on it.  
**

**These women aren’t my friends, and the sooner I realise that the better off I’ll be. I reckon they’ll hand me over to Dante Wallace in a heartbeat, especially to keep the peace.  
**

**Open war or handing over one tired ex-cop? It’s a fucking inevitability. The only question is whether I can get the hell out of here first.**

Anya continued, “They won’t because Wallace knows if his goons or the cops so much as put a toe onto our turf with ill intentions, then we’ll cut them up so bad the streets will run red with blood, and you can bet your asses it won’t be our blood!”

Beside her Indra gave one sharp nod.

**If I hear it right, they’re gonna protect me. Maybe Clarke’s right and I’m short-changing these women. They’re a bunch of crazy, suicidal broads.**

“They’ll swarm down here with so many guys you won’t stand a chance.” Lexa spoke the truth and everyone knew it. 

The door at the other end of the hall opened. Lexa didn’t need to turn around. Clarke’s smell filled the air and she heard the young woman's footsteps pounding along the hall with urgency. They stopped just behind Lexa, so close Lexa could hear Clarke breathing. 

“There’s no way we’re handing Lexa over to him!” Clarke growled firmly. 

**They’re a pack of goddamn heroes, and I hate to see it rubbing off on Clarke. I imagine her going down in a hail of cop bullets and it hurts like fuck.**

“No one’s saying that, Clarke," Anya replied. Her voice far softer than before. "Go to bed."

"Like fuck I am-"

Anya delivered one of her trademark glares, effectively cutting off Clarke's protest. Lexa felt Clarke move past her before she saw her. She then watched the blonde’s back, almost running without a glance back over her shoulder. Clarke disappeared through a door down in the darkness at the other end of the hall. Lexa nodded at Anya in thanks. They both shared the opinion that Clarke shouldn't be anywhere near this.

Lexa turned her attention back to the scum at her feet. By now he had dragged himself to a kneeling position, one foot forward as though he were prepared to spring to his feet. He was looking over his shoulder, up at Anya.

“So what’s your answer, whore? What word should I take back to Mayor Wallace?” he asked, obviously impatient to be out of the Palace.

“What word?” Anya cocked her head to one side. “’Cos I’m so fucking generous, he can have several. ‘Keep the fuck out of Old Town!’” 

“It’s your funeral bitches!” he sneered in reply, standing all the way up with a slight stagger.

Lexa clenched her fist. “And this is from me.” 

In one powerful movement, she drew back her fist and let it go. It smashed into the guys jaw, dislodging teeth and sending them flying in a cloud of blood to the carpet. He crashed backwards, semi-conscious before he even hit the floor. Anya smirked across at Lexa. 

“Take this creep outside and send him on his way,” she commanded Indra and Ontari. “Make sure he gets out of Old Town safely. We wouldn’t want something nasty happening to him before he gets to deliver his message.”

Lexa watched as the man was half-dragged down the hallway between the two Ladies. She watched until they disappeared and found herself alone in the hallway with Anya. The whore stood with one hand on her hip, a pose so maddeningly confident it made Lexa ache. 

“You’ll soon see that we’re not who you think we are,” Anya said in Lexa’s direction. A simple statement of fact. “Whether you like it or not, Woods, we’re going out on a limb for you.”

**I don’t reply. Call me a rude, ungrateful bitch but my time in prison has made me cynical. All this self-righteous heroism makes me sick. When will they realise that it all counts for nothing?**

**My throat is as dry as hell and I realise I need something to drink. Something that burns.**

**I push past Anya with the intention of going back to my room, pulling some clothes on, and getting the hell out of Polis.**

 


	5. Playing Doctor

**Chapter Five**

**Playing Doctor**

 

**Like a moth to a flame I find a bar in Old Town. It's a dive, but there's cheap booze and a bartender that keeps it coming without questions.**

**I down another shot and set the glass down. There are half a dozen empties lined up in a neat row. It’s the only way I can tell that I might have had too much to drink. Head feels fine except for the fact its working overtime, too much thinking.**

**I know that’s bad because too much thinking will get a person killed.**

Lexa caught the bartender’s eye which wasn’t hard as she was one of only two customers seated at the bar. The other was a dark shape huddled at the far end that hadn’t moved in the past hour. She nodded towards her empty shot glass, indicating for it to be filled yet again. The stony-faced man grabbed the bottle of Jack from the shelf behind him and poured into Lexa’s glass, filling it just shy of overflowing. Lexa nodded her thanks and studied the glass intently.

She knew she should leave - get the hell out of Basin City and never look back. The most sensible idea would be for her to find the smallest corner of the biggest city and wait until the heat over her escape died down. 

That thought made Lexa smirk. She knew Dante Wallace. As long as the bastard was alive he would hunt her without mercy, she would never be able to stop running. It would be no life at all. Still, it was better than the alternative of staying in Old Town and being responsible for an all out war. Dante wouldn’t even have to pull too many strings to do it. The cops had a love/hate relationship with Old Town. They loved getting their rocks off with the Ladies, but they hated the fact that they couldn't touch the place. Lexa's presence would give the cops all the excuse they needed to break the truce. The cops would storm Old Town, they’d be pissed as hell when the Ladies started fighting back and they’d kill and rape without mercy. 

There was no way in hell Lexa was letting that happen while Clarke was in Old Town…and a part of her also felt responsible for the other women despite the fact that it went against her better judgement. 

**I start reaching for the drink. Despite the amount I’ve consumed I still want to feel another one slip down my throat. I pause with my arm half outstretched as a thought runs through my mind. What the hell is keeping me here? I should leave, now, I have nothing to pack, I have no money but there are ways around that. I’d pay a visit to my ex, she’d help me out for old time’s sake and I’d be on a bus within the hour. But I’m not leaving…**

**I’m still here because I know Dante will have the cops storm Old Town regardless of whether I am here or not. I could broadcast my absence to the bloody heavens and they'd still come in guns blazing. He knows Clarke’s here and if he can’t have me, he’ll get Clarke.**

**I’ll give myself up, that’s the only way out of this. It’ll save Clarke and Old Town. The only price being paid would be an ex-cop who isn’t worth a damn anyway.**

**However something Anya said got to me. Made me realise that these women don’t give up their own lightly. Because Clarke loves me, I’m one of them by association. It means that they’re prepared to go to war for me. How can I say no to a gesture light that? Catch 22. I’m fucked whatever way I look at it.**

Lexa began reaching for the shot once more but a rude, gruff voice interrupted her with one word.

“Woods?”

“Fuck off?” Lexa growled, not bothering to look up.

“Lexa Woods?” 

“You've got the wrong dame, buddy. Keep walking.” Her fingers closed around the shot glass 

A massive hand slammed down on the bar and sent the liquid splashing out of the glass. It was only then that Lexa looked over her shoulder with a stormy expression. Standing directly behind her was a solidly built man, a scraggly beard attached to his pockmarked face. He smiled and showed her several gold teeth behind his fat lips. At his shoulder was a taller, whip-thin man, so pale he was almost white. The one in front stepped even closer to Lexa. He lifted his hand to his coat and Lexa felt the cold, hard barrel of a pistol jabbed into the small of her back.  

“I do…and so does Dante Wallace. It could be that there's a nice bounty on your head. Let’s step outside so we don’t disturb the other folks having a quiet drink.”

“Sure...after you buy me another shot?” Lexa indicated her spilt drink with a nod of her head.

With added malice, the bounty hunter rammed the pistol barrel into her back with an impressive display of strength. Lexa did not even wince as she swivelled around on her stool and swung her legs to the floor. She stood and the squat man met the full force of her most intense gaze. If it intimidated him, his bearded face did not change in the slightest.

“Outside, bitch!”

“Suit yourself.".

No one paid the slightest attention to the trio as they left the bar. Both thugs stayed behind Lexa, letting her lead them out. The cold air hit her in the face as she moved outdoors. She stood in the dirty alleyway, a small smile on her face as she sensed the two of them fan out behind her. With the patience of one who had seen it all, Lexa bided her time and waited for the right moment.

“Check her for weapons,” the leader motioned to his pale companion with a wave of his stubby arm.

With a lecherous sneer the pale thug stepped towards Lexa. He pressed his hand against her chest and threw her back against the wall behind her. Lexa snarled and swiped his hand away with one of her own. He immediately recovered and slammed her back with all his might, moving his face so close to hers that she could smell the cheeseburger on his breath. With his free hand he began patting her down, taking his time in a thorough search.

“I’m not armed,” Lexa growled. “So get your filthy hands off me before I rip your throat out!”

His pale face instantly morphed into a vision of rage at Lexa’s non-compliance. In a rather jerky, unprofessional movement he withdrew his weapon from the holster at his hip. Lexa smirked when she saw the gold-plated monstrosity he was wielding. All show and no purpose. Even so, he levelled the weapon directly at the bridge of her nose. Lexa knew he was completely capable of pulling the trigger. It would all be over, her brains splattered over the wall behind her.

“I’m gonna do you right now, bitch!” he spluttered, his voice heavy with fake posturing. “You can’t talk to us - to me like that!”

Lexa did not care what he was saying; the words were unimportant and flowed right over her. What she did care about was where his partner was standing just off to the left and the fact that he had put his weapon away. While keeping one eye on her surroundings, Lexa kept the other on the lunatic with the golden gun pointed at her face. She watched the muzzle of the gun dance around with the cadence of his words, half the time it was pointed at the wall above her head.

**The guy’s all over the place, waving his gun around like he’s fucking dancing instead of trying to threaten someone. It’s not threatening in the least. I’d laugh if he wasn’t such a fucking lunatic. Like I've always said, it’s the lunatics you’ve got to watch out for. They’re unpredictable and don’t give a damn about consequences.**

**I’m not sure if their orders are to kill me or take me in alive, but it doesn’t matter. Either way, they’re not getting what they want. I’m bored, drunk, fucking hungry, and my lack of sleep is catching up on me. I’m also feeling more than a little reckless. Time to put a stop to this nonsense**

“What you gonna say to that, bitch?” the lunatic jerked his weapon once again, failing to keep it trained on Lexa. 

“Goodnight,” Lexa replied in a deadpan voice.

She surged forward in one smooth movement and her hands moved upward to claim a strong grip on his arm. Before he had time to fire Lexa had spun him around and jerked his arm up, forcing him to drop the gun into her waiting hand.

“What the-” the fat guy fumbled for his weapon as the events unfolded before him.

As he drew his pistol and brought it to bear on Lexa, she managed to get off one shot from his partner's gold plated weapon. He let out a blood curdling scream and his gun clattered to the pavement along with his thumb. The weapon lay dented and useless as he jammed his wounded hand beneath his armpit in an effort to stop the bleeding. Still retaining her hold on the thin man in her arms, Lexa ejected the clip from his weapon with one hand and it fell to the ground. She tossed the gun itself into a nearby dumpster.

With the guns out of the equation, Lexa turned her attention to the guys themselves. She grunted as the lunatic in her arms shoved his elbow backwards into her stomach. Winded, Lexa’s hold relaxed enough for him to twist his way out of her grasp. Once free, he delivered an uppercut to her jaw. He lacked the muscle to do any real damage but Lexa’s head snapped back with the impact. Shaking it off, she brought her own fists to bear and replied with a combination of her own to his head and stomach that sent him reeling straight back into his partner. Both men tumbled over one another and landed in a heap on the pavement.

The thug with a missing thumb angrily shoved his dazed partner aside and struggled to his feet. He lurched forward groggily, blood spattering everywhere from his hand. He made a wild swing with his left with Lexa avoided easily. She ducked and moved around his arm to deliver a swift kick to the side of his knee. There was a sickening crack as the knee snapped out of place. He dropped onto the wounded knee and squealed in pain as Lexa calmly walked around him whilst keeping one eye on his dazed partner.

He was slipping face first into the ground and Lexa helped him on his way with another powerful kick to the back of his head. His face slammed into the concrete, his nose breaking and blood splashing out on either side of him. He made no further move. As she spun around to deal with the remaining thug she was forced to dance backwards from an angry swipe directed at her face. The guy had pulled a knife from his boot. Lexa winced as the tip of the blade caught her at her scalp line, she felt it slice through the skin. She felt the trickle of warm blood flow over her forehead and into her eye. Her opponent laughed, buoyed by the sight of blood and his slashing attack continued in earnest. His aim was erratic, driven by his anger rather than any skill. Lexa kept him at an arm's length, darting or ducking away from each swipe with time to spare.

There was limited room in the alleyway. Lexa was fully aware of her surroundings and the placement on her feet on the rubbish-strewn ground. Her opponent was not so lucky; he slipped on the decomposing corpse of a cat. He flew forward and Lexa only managed to twist slightly before he slammed into her body. She felt a searing pain in her side as she lifted one knee and shoved him aside. As he fell, the knife clattered to the pavement, its blade covered with blood. Lexa angrily kicked it as hard as she could and it clattered several metres before coming to rest in a pile of refuse. 

She was on the fallen thug in an instant, her fists flying in a flurry of controlled blows aimed mostly at his head.

**I don’t know what my body is operating on, adrenaline and rage mostly. It’s the thought of this guy or someone very like him doing to Clarke what he had just tried to do to me. The rapid blows are killing my knuckles, but I don’t care.**

After several blows he was reduced to cowering on his knees with his arms over his head in a vain effort to stop them coming into contact with his head. Eventually, after one blow too many, he slumped to the pavement unconscious, his face a bloody mess. Lexa took a step backwards and then another which was more of a stumble. Her head reeled and her body lurched sideways uncontrollably. She slammed into the dumpster like a drunkard. As she stood clinging to it, feeling incredibly dizzy, she knew she had to get away from the scene as soon as possible and back to Polis. It was the only place where she could be sure the cops wouldn’t get to her - at least for the time being. With a grunt she straightened herself up and looked at her handwork.

“Morons,” Lexa said to the pair of bodies.

As she stepped over the motionless body of the pale thug, she reached down and swiped the cigarettes and lighter from his pocket. Lexa slid one from the pack as she continued walking and placed it between her lips, pausing for a moment before she lit it. It had been nine years since her last cigarette, smoked on that fateful night before her meeting with Cage Wallace. She'd quit in prison, not wanting her addiction to make her slave to the black market.

With one hand, Lexa flicked the lighter open and watched the flame dance for a few moments, already imagining the sweet release of her first drag. She stopped just short of lighting it, with a regretful sigh she snapped the lighter closed and pocketed it. She plucked the unlit cigarette from her lips and tossed it in the gutter along with the rest of the pack.

* * *

 

The priceless Ming vase flew across the room, spending its last moments as an intact object before hitting a doorframe and smashing into dozens of pieces. One man who had ducked as it passed over his head turned and stared at it for a few moments before quickly returning his gaze to the man standing in front of a huge, antique desk.

Dante Wallace had been leaning back against the desk casually before his sudden and violent outburst, now he strode forward with a purpose and backhanded the unfortunate man standing in front of him across the face. The man's head snapped to one side but he quickly righted himself. He stood staunchly in his cop uniform despite being faced with someone who circled him like a predator.

“Captain Pike, you promised me that this little problem would be sorted within twenty-four hours. Your time is up and I don’t see any sign of that bitch surrendering herself on my doorstep. So where the fuck is she?” Dante Wallace demanded.

Pike met Wallace's gaze with apprehension now showing in his eyes. His voice reflected this, “W-we underestimated the Ladies of Old Town, Your Worship.”

Dante fumed and slapped him on the other cheek. “What do you mean by underestimated?”

Pike gulped as he straightened himself once again. “As a rule the Ladies keep to themselves, they staunchly protect their own…and only their own. With the threat to the truce, I expected them to give Woods up. I was wrong. They’ve chosen to protect her.”

“No shit,” Dante grumbled, pacing in front of Pike. “The bounty on her head has attracted nothing but lowlifes and scum."

"No one else is willing to go into Old Town!" Pike protested.

Dante shook his head. "I’m very, very disappointed.” 

“We’ll double our efforts!" Pike promised. "Just give me another twenty-four hours and I’ll drag that bitch in front of you personally!”

“Don’t bother trying," Dante snorted. "It’s more likely that Lexa Woods will drag your lifeless body in front of me. As tempting as that prospect seems right now. Get out of my sight before I get the urge to have you killed.” 

Pike hastily nodded his head, backing out of the room just to ensure that he wasn't going to get shot in the back. Dante watched Pike leave and heard the panicked footsteps as his pace quickened once he had safely escaped the room.

A shape moved from the shadows behind him.

“Is he all you've got to work with? No surprise you called me in.”

Dante turned to regard the dark-clothed man. The newcomer's red hair was cropped close military style and his skin was pale, as though he'd not seen the sun in years. Beneath his tapered black jeans and muscle shirt, his body was whipcord thin and taut, ready for action. A lazy smile spread across the man's face.

“Emerson," Dante said with a said. "Please tell me I can count on you to sort out this fucking mess?”  

“My pleasure.” Emerson withdrew a wicked looking knife from a sheath at his belt and twirled it on the flat of his hand before deftly catching it once more.

* * *

 

Lexa waved aside the rather half-hearted offer of help from the guards on the front door of Polis, asking only for directions to the nearest first aid kit. It was nearing eight am. With the hours the Ladies kept, the halls were mercifully empty. Lexa didn’t want to face any questions, especially from Anya.

She was vaguely aware that she was that she was bleeding all over the carpet as she half-dragged herself in the direction of the kitchen. Although she decided that it mattered little when she glanced downwards and saw the carpet was already a deep, blood red.

When she entered the kitchen Lexa found it bathed in artificial light and a single occupant seated at the end of a long table. Her stomach flipped. It was Clarke, surrounded by stacks of books, staring up at her with an expression torn between hope and panic. Clarke hurriedly began gathering up her pens and papers.

“I’m sorry. I’ll get out of here, just give me a moment to clear all this junk away.”

Lexa glanced at the books and papers nearest her. _Introduction to Criminal Law_ was sitting beside a small sheaf of excruciatingly neat study notes. Clarke was flustered as she tried to pick everything up at once, several of her pens were knocked to the floor. Lexa bent to retrieve them.

“It’s not junk.” Lexa paused halfway through returning the pens as she realised she had smeared blood across everything.

Clarke saw the pens and immediately looked up at Lexa, jaw dropping at the sight of the bloody wound on Lexa's forehead. As Clarke started to get to her feet, Lexa held out her hand.

“Stay put. I’m just patching myself up.”

Clarke dropped her armload of books to the table. They landed with a dull thud. The sound was akin to Lexa’s heart beating in response to the concern in Clarke’s eyes.

“You’re hurt,” Clarke whispered in a horrified voice. “Who did this to you? Just tell me and I’ll have Anya make them wish they’d never laid eyes on you.”

“It’s nothing.” Lexa wasn’t sure whether she was reassuring Clarke or herself. "And the other guys have already been taken care of."

Lexa gently placed the blood-smeared pens on the table and rose to her feet as if to show Clarke she was still capable of standing. She nonchalantly crossed to the First Aid cabinet fixed to the wall by the door. Clarke waited mere seconds before scrambling to her feet and dashing to Lexa’s side in case she collapsed. The young woman watched anxiously as Lexa grabbed gauze and tape.

“That looks nasty,” Clarke said quietly, trying to examine Lexa's head wound. "Will you let me look at it?"

"No," Lexa replied curtly.

Lexa turned away from Clarke and crossed to the table, dumping the small pile of medical supplies down. A wave of dizziness engulfed her and she had to discreetly grab the edge of the table to keep from keeling over.

"You're insufferable. You know, just because you accept help from someone doesn't make you weak...or in their debt."

Clarke moved quickly, pushing back a chair and practically shoving Lexa down into it. Lexa sat without further protest. She couldn't deny that it was a relief to sit down. Despite the knife wound sending shockwaves of pain throughout her body, she almost forgot about it as Clarke touched her face, applying pressure to get her to tilt her head to one side. 

“You know what you're doing?" Lexa asked as she felt Clarke deftly examine the wound.

“At cleaning people up after vicious back alley fights? Stab wounds? Gun shots?” Clarke shrugged modestly. “Some. Anya and the others are determined to keep me shielded from the worst of it, but I like to help out where I can.”

Lexa managed to stifle her angry response by biting her lip. Whether or not she approved, this was Clarke's world. It was slowly becoming apparent that Clarke had managed just fine for the past nine years.

“It’s not as bad as I first thought," Clarke continued. "No amputation necessary."

Clarke expected to at least provoke a smile from Lexa but one was not forthcoming. Mildly irritated, Clarke applied a liberal amount of disinfectant to the gauze and pressed it to the cut on Lexa’s forehead without warning. Again the expected reaction did not emerge. Lexa sat stoically without so much as flinching. Clarke gave up speaking and concentrated on cleaning the blood from around the wound.  

By the time Clarke closed the wound with a neat row of butterfly stitches, she actually appreciated the silence. Unlike so many of the people she surrounded herself with, Lexa did not feel the urge to fill a perfectly good silence with pointless chatter. There was nothing other than the steady hum of the refrigerator and the purposeful sounds she made as she worked.

"All done," Clarke announced, barely managing to stifle the ridiculous desire to punctuate her sentence with a kiss to Lexa's forehead 

“Thank you, Clarke,” Lexa reached up to explore Clarke's work with tips of her fingers. "You do good work."

Clarke saw Lexa’s bruised and bloodied knuckles, another reminder of the vicious fight. Without a word, she reached out and took Lexa’s hand in her own. For the briefest of moments, she held the hand gently. It was under the pretence of examining the wound but both women felt something more to it. However, just as the air was at its quietest and their eyes met above their shared touch, Clarke turned her attention to the disinfectant and gauze.

Lexa watched Clarke's face. The young woman's nose was wrinkled slightly in concentration whilst she worked. Lexa was able to study the curve of her cheek. She had the maddening urge to reach out and stroke the skin, to find out if it was really as soft as it appeared. Another thought crossed into Lexa’s mind, one which had been plaguing her since their conversation the previous evening. Before she could stop herself, words formed on her lips and then vomited forth from her mouth, almost unbidden.

“Did you love her? Lexa asked suddenly.

“Who?” Clarke paused her ministrations and looked Lexa in the eye with a confused expression.

“The girl you got kicked out of your foster family for,” Lexa replied, wishing she had taken it back instead.

She watched the furrow’s on Clarke’s brow deepen as she struggled with her reply. Clarke let go of her hand, the little piece of bloodied gauze carefully held between the tips of her fingers.

It eventually tumbled out fairly quickly, as though she were reassuring Lexa. “Why are you bringing that up? I…no. No I didn’t love her.”

“There was obviously something there, to risk being kicked out of your home for,” Lexa couldn’t stop herself as she continue to bait Clarke, not even entirely sure as to why she was doing it.

“All of a sudden you want to get personal?" Clarke retorted. She tossed the gauze down and folded her arms across her chest. “Fine. I was fifteen and exploring my sexuality. You should know as well as anyone that you don’t need to be in love to fuck someone. I've fucked enough girls since then to fully test that theory. Guys too.”

At that moment Lexa was wondering where Clarke had disappeared to and just who sat in front of her. However, as she watched tears moisten the corner of Clarke’s eyes she knew that girl hadn’t gone anywhere. A heavy sigh escaped Lexa’s lips as she fervently wished she had never asked the question in the first place.

“Why do you even care?” Clarke asked in a whisper, interrupting Lexa’s line of thought.

“I-I…” Lexa began before forcing herself to stop and think about her words, and to avoid lurching into a sentence composed entirely of nonsense.

**I bite my lip. I was a teenager once. Awkward. Scared of wanting something different. Unlike Clarke, I'd chosen to try and hide for a long time.**

**Scratch that image. That’s not me anymore. I haven’t been that girl for a long time.**

“Clarke, I have to tell you something…”

Lexa paused mid-sentence, wondering why the room was spinning all of a sudden. In her daze her mind flashed back to the fight in the alleyway and the pale thug stumbling and falling into her. She remembered the piercing pain at her side, and the knife clattering to the ground. With trembling hands she felt her side, another pain which almost drove her to pass out. When she looked at her fingers they were covered in blood. She looked up at Clarke. The young woman's face was the last thing she saw as her vision collapsed into darkness and she slipped to the floor unconscious.


	6. Silver Screen Broad

**Chapter Six**

**Silver Screen Broad**

**Outside the window the night is a washed out black with the moonlight rendering it less threatening somehow. I know I should be sleeping...recuperating, but my goddamn nightmares won’t let up. I may not be spending the rest of my life behind bars physically, but my mind is determined to see that I do.  
**

**I shift the slightest fraction and the wound in my side lets me know exactly how bad an idea that is. The stitches feel as though they’re trying to rip out of my skin. Even so, I sit up, enough to feel like I’m sitting up instead of lying down. Lying on your back for an entire day isn’t my idea of a good time and I’m bored as hell.**

**My mind inevitably shifts back to the conversation I was having with Clarke before I passed out. Fuck knows why I want to torture myself with something I want so badly to ignore. Clarke almost had me laying my fucking feelings out on the table. I find myself wishing I could’ve retained consciousness a few minutes more, just long enough to set her straight.**

**When I hear a knock on the door, I know it's Clarke. Despite knowing it's a bad idea, I invite her in.**

Clarke entered Lexa’s room with a heavily laden tray of food. Carefully balancing it with both hands, she moved to the foot of the bed and stood a little awkwardly. She didn’t quite want to look up at Lexa but nor could she take her eyes off her.

“I know this is a stupid question - stab wound and all - but how are you feeling?” Clarke asked quietly.

Lexa watched the tiniest attempt at a smile flicker across Clarke’s face. She responded with a weak one of her own - tired, sore and starving as she was. The smile came out as more like a grimace. 

“Peachy," Lexa replied. She eyed up the tray Clarke carried with barely concealed longing.

Clarke brightened as the answer seemed to amuse her. “For a moment there you had me worried - not that I have any right to be worried about you, but-" The young woman bit her lip to stop herself talking. 

“I’ve had worse,” Lexa pulled herself up a little further. “It’s nothing really. Whoever patched me up did a real good job.” 

“Oh, we’ve got a doctor - Jackson. He’s not ours as such, but he does stuff for all of us. Anya saved his life once. He was being beaten up by a couple of low-lifes for the fifty bucks he had in his wallet. So now he’s pretty much on call whenever we need him.” 

As much as she loved listening to Clarke talk, Lexa's stomach was threatening to tear its way through her skin and find food on its own. The situation was made all the worse by the fact that she could smell something rich wafting from a large bowl in the centre of the tray.

“Ah, Clarke,” Lexa asked cautiously, as though she were about to ask a huge favour.  

Clarke raised her eyebrows in anticipation. “Yeah?” 

“Is it presumptuous to assume that’s for me?” Lexa nodded towards the tray. 

Clarke’s eyebrows flew upwards in shock and she surged forward in her haste to deliver the tray. The contents of her tray mimicked her movements in almost sliding right of the tray and onto the floor. She barely managed to correct herself and for a second engaged in a comical balancing act which drew a smile from Lexa. Once the tray was under control Clarke looked up with a sheepish expression on her face. She caught the last traces of Lexa's smile and responded with one of her own. 

Clarke safely deposited the tray on Lexa’s lap, her hairs prickling at their momentary close proximity. She drew away quickly, but not so quick as to be noticeable and took up a position standing next to the bed. 

Lexa barely stopped to take in what was on the tray before pouncing on the food. She did note that the large bowl contained a thick, hearty soup complete with large chunks of unidentifiable meat and vegetables. Next to the soup was a steaming loaf of bread, butter melting at its centre. There was a cup of black coffee, and a little oddly, a glass of milk. A separate plate held a large wedge of some form of cake – probably chocolate. She tore off a large chunk of bread and sopped up as much soup as it could hold before cramming the oversized chunk into her mouth. Her jaws worked fiercely to stop herself choking on the bread and soup and she felt a dribble of gravy make its way down her chin. However, she did not pause until two more hunks of bread and several spoonfuls of soup had gone the way of the first. She followed it up with a gulp of the scalding coffee and perfunctorily dashed her fist across her chin to wipe away the mess. 

Clarke watched with a look that was somewhere between amusement and disgust. Lexa looked up with no apology on her face. 

“Fanks,” her mouth was partially full as she had popped another piece of bread into her mouth, she swallowed quickly and spoke a little clearer. “Did you make all this?”

“I opened the respective cans and boxes, and pressed the ‘start’ button on the microwave, “ Clarke admitted honestly. “So if you could call that ‘making’, then yes. You're obviously hungry at any rate.”

Lexa was scooping up soup as she replied, "This is the best food I’ve eaten in the past nine years. The milk though?” 

“Um, options?” Clarke replied sheepishly. 

“You want it?” Lexa nodded at the milk. “Take a seat.” 

Clarke took up a perch on the edge of the bed and retrieved Lexa’s unwanted milk from the tray, she took a long swallow before letting it rest on her lap with the support of one hand. They sat in silence for a while, silent except for Lexa chewing with her mouth open and the scrape of her spoon against the bottom of the bowl. Clarke tapped her heel on the ground and stared out the window, unsure of the best way to resume their conversation of the previous evening. Lexa however, did not feel the need to talk. She was staring regretfully at her empty soup bowl. Her regret did not last long however, she fell upon the cake with great gusto. Half of it was gone before she realised that she was poor company indeed. She pushed the tray toward Clarke a little, nudging her with the corner. 

“Want some?” Lexa secretly hoped that Clarke did not. 

Clarke’s attention was drawn away from the window and back to Lexa, she shook her head politely. She continued sipping her milk, the question she was dying to ask Lexa trapped on her lips. 

With the last of the cake polished off, Clarke picked up the tray and set in on the nightstand. She left Lexa with just the coffee in her hands.

"I'm sorry for making you feel uncomfortable,” Clarke dropped her gaze slightly. "The kiss in the club...everyone staring at you when you arrived. All of it." 

"No, Clarke...you don't need to apologise." Lexa couldn't look at her.

**I'm justifying her behaviour - goddamn, the next thing I know I’ll be flattered by her attention.**

**I look at her and she looks right back at me, I know she’s thinking back to that conversation. I can see the yearning to ask me written plain as day on her face. I can honestly say that I would rather face another couple of those thugs in a back alley than sit for one more minute alone with this kid.**

The silence was finally broken as both spoke at the same moment.

“Lexa, I…”

“Listen, Clarke…” 

Both shut their mouths immediately and waited for the other to speak. Lexa realised that Clarke had no intention of speaking first and she sighed before opening her mouth once again. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t exactly been...the most talkative person since I got out of prison-” 

Clarke interrupted briefly, “Understatement of the century.” 

Lexa’s eyebrows rose slightly and Clarke couldn’t tell if she was amused or annoyed at the interruption, she continued talking however. “It’s been difficult to go from…in there to out here.” 

Clarke studied Lexa’s face, seeing her vulnerability as she referred to prison. She hated the pained expression that accompanied the words, unable to compare anything within the limits of her own experience to what must have happened in prison.

Lexa looked up and scowled angrily. “Don’t look at me like that!” 

Clarke fixed an innocent expression on her face. “Like what?’ 

“Like-” Lexa stopped. Clarke’s previous expression was nowhere to be seen in her now rather adorable gaze. Her scowl deepened as a result of frustration. “Like whatever the look you had on your face before, two seconds ago, before you went all - just don’t look at me!” 

Clarke’s eyebrows rose sharply. Mostly she asked herself whether Lexa was serious in her request. The question was answered a few moments later when Lexa looked up and met her gaze directly. Lexa was biting her lip as though she were in deep thought.

“I-I…” Lexa swallowed and began anew. “I had something I meant to say to you last night before I fainted.”

Frustratingly, Lexa dropped her gaze again. However it meant Clarke was able to study the ex-cop closely - the tightness around her mouth, clenched fists. Whatever Lexa had to say, she was struggling with some aspect, or perhaps all of it.

Something shifted. Clarke suddenly realised that Lexa was poised for movement. Right when Lexa had been on the verge of honestly, everything changed and instead all she wanted to do was get the hell out of the room. It was only the stab wound which kept Lexa from making a quick getaway. Clarke was unimpressed. 

“Look Clarke, I’m really tired-" Lexa began. 

“Don’t you dare do that again!" Clarke interrupted heatedly. She fought to keep her temper in check. "Lexa...please be honest with me. What were you going to say? Just no more excuses. Please." 

Lexa was every bit the petulant child as she stared at Clarke from the corner of her eye. Clarke confronted her with a steadfast gaze. 

**When I put the slugs into Dante’s devil spawn nine years ago I felt safe in the knowledge that I had saved Clarke.**

**I can’t do it anymore. I can't save her from this. I’m going to drag her down with me, get her killed. All because I can’t keep my fucking self under control.  
**

**She’s looking at me expectantly. She knows it even if she doesn’t understand what it will do to her. She’s getting impatient, foot starting to tap on the ground. Fuck! I need more time to think, work out a plan so we can all be happy and get out of this alive.  
**

**When did I start caring about saving myself?  
**

When Lexa finally spoke, she spoke the words simply, “I feel something for you, Clarke.” 

While Clarke had not been expecting a declaration of undying love from Lexa, she had to admit that she was expecting a statement that carried a little more conviction than the one she had just heard. As it was, she was rather confused.

“I feel something for you?” Clarke repeated, feeling more than a little stupid. “Lexa, what the hell is that supposed to mean? You feel something for me as in the affection that you would feel for a little sister…or you feel hot all over like you want to fuck-” 

“Clarke!” As she snapped at the capricious blonde, Lexa rolled over to face her in a movement that caused a considerable amount of pain. “Stop deliberately provoking me!” Clarke raised her hands in placation and let Lexa continue, albeit in a milder voice. “I’m not lying, I am really tired…and nor can I answer your questions…I just need a little-”

“Time,” Clarke finished quietly. 

Clarke reached out to take Lexa’s hand in her own. Lexa felt the small, warm fingers enclose her own in one gentle squeeze before she released them all too soon. 

“Yeah, time,” Lexa heard herself say. 

Clarke backed away from the bed, a small but radiant smile of victory spreading across her face. She was still smiling when she turned and headed out the door. Her victory wasn’t over Lexa. She knew full well she hadn’t beaten Lexa at anything, but she had beaten back the demons. At least a little.

* * *

 

**The kid must have taken me seriously because it’s been a week and I haven’t heard a peep out of her, at least nothing to do with feelings. Fuck, what a stupid thing to say. I’ve been kicking myself all week about it. I’ve never been much of a wordsmith but that little bit of verbiage really takes the prize in the sappy crap sweepstakes. You’re losing it, Woods. Really losing it.**

**Still, she’s not much of a kid, not really. Especially not after I’ve just seen her show for the second time. I search her out across the floor of Grounder’s and her eyes meet mine. She’s standing next to Anya, a long coat thrown over her stage costume. The coat parts slightly as she lifts her arms to wave and I see creamy skin, creamy and bright even in the gloom of the club. I offer up a nod in response.**

**There’s a slight curl to my lips as I turn back to face my drink sitting on the bar in front of me.**

Lexa let the cacophony of Grounder’s constant hum flow over her as she savoured her beer. She downed the last of it in one long, slow drag and set the empty back down on the bar with a thud of satisfaction. Somewhere over her shoulder was Clarke and Lexa knew that the other woman was waiting for her.

Across the bar, Clarke watched Lexa down her beer. She looked nervously to her own drink. Her show had finished at least ten minutes ago and she’d been standing at Anya’s side for most of that time, barely sipping her drink as she waited for Lexa to cross the room and join them. However, just as it looked as though Lexa was sliding the stool back to begin the rise to her feet a tall figure shrouded beneath an expensive and beautiful coat moved to block her path. Clarke found herself watching the newcomer intently. The figure hugging coat outlined trim curves, coal black curls peeked from the raised hood. Although Lexa did not look up at the woman, her instincts would have told her that someone was in such close proximity.

Clarke’s breath caught in her throat as the woman slowly peeled back the fur-lined hood of her coat. The movement appeared to be seductively calculated and turned more than one head in the bar. In fact, Clarke noted, it turned almost every head besides Lexa’s. The newcomer then shrugged the coat off her shoulders. A huge, bearded man stepped forward to take the coat and fold it over his arm. Clarke studied the woman’s face once more, knowing she had seen her somewhere. 

The woman then leaned down to speak softly in Lexa’s ear, finally rousing Lexa from her intent concentration on the empty beer glass in front of her. Clarke continued to watch as Lexa glanced up at the women and she saw the resulting clouded look that passed over Lexa’s face. The look spoke volumes, which was saying a lot considering that Lexa was the queen of brevity. When the woman leaned forward and kissed Lexa full and sensually on the lips, Clarke felt like dashing her own drink to the floor.

“Who the fuck is that?” she demanded, turning to Anya with a stormy expression on her face.

Anya too had been staring at the woman. When Clarke spoke, Anya turned and regarded her with a wry but sympathetic smile. 

“You spend too much time with your nose in books, kiddo. We need to get you out more often…say to a movie?” Anya raised an eyebrow. “You must have heard of Costia Green?”

Clarke snorted. “Isn’t she some sort of actress?” 

“Yup,” Anya replied with a nod. 

“What’s she got to do with anything-” Clarke stopped short and she turned back to look at the woman once more, comprehension dawned. “That’s Costia Green? What the hell is a movie star doing kissing Lexa?” 

"Because she's Lexa’s ex," Anya replied simply.

The words shot straight towards Clarke and hit her square between the eyes. Such was their impact that she almost stumbled backwards.

“Lexa has an ex,” Clarke whispered it out loud for the benefit of her own ears. It sounded ridiculous. “Lexa’s ex is a movie star?”

“It was in all the gossip rags about ten years ago. I guess you were a little too young.” Anya let out an appreciative whistle. “Damn, they look as hot together now as they did in all the photos back then.” 

“They’re not together now,” Clarke whispered between gritted teeth, slamming the palm of her hand down on the table. 

“I didn’t mean together as in ‘together together’, I just meant it as in seeing them standing side by side like that…Clarke?”

Anya turned around in time to see Clarke’s departing back passing through the back door towards the changing rooms.

 

* * *

 

**I smell her before I even lay eyes on her. A hot, cloying scent that fogs my brain, gives me a headache and drives me wild all at the same time. There's a whisper in my ear, a tropical summer wind that is hot and suffocating.**

“Got time for an old flame?”

**Sure enough, I turn around and she’s standing right in front of me, looking exactly the same as she did ten years and nine months ago. This is a new development that I really don’t need. _Costia_. **

**Before I even know what’s happening, she moves forward and plants a kiss on my parched lips. The kiss is hot, wet and more than enough to create a fierce ache between my legs. I can't stop myself from wanting more, but I know the kiss isn’t an invitation.**

Costia pulled back, licking full, red lips as she straightened to look down on Lexa. “Well, well, well, I thought you were in jail serving a life sentence for killing a couple of people and kicking the shit out of Cage Wallace?” 

**Her voice has changed with the passing of time. It’s lost that girlish quality which limited her to the roles of ingénue or college student. I often heard her joke that she’d spent several lifetimes at college despite never actually having been. It’s mellowed now, mellowed into something sophisticated and rich. It matches her scent perfectly.**

“I was,” Lexa tried to keep her voice level and nonchalant. “But I got bored.” 

“So you just walked out of a maximum security prison?” Costia teased.

The star turned to the bartender and ordered a scotch and a double of Jack as Lexa was still trying to sort out what was happening. The fact that Costia was really there in front of her had thrown her slightly and she quickly moved to recover by throwing her defences up once more.

“Yes, they were only too happy to get rid of me,” Lexa replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Costia just smiled and accepted the two glasses from the bartender, one of which she placed before Lexa. The actress then slid elegantly onto the dirty stool next to Lexa, somehow managing to sit as though it were a throne.

“I’m not here to bait you, Lex. I heard you escaped and I knew where I’d find you,” Costia's tone was somewhat apologetic. “Let’s just say a few of the Ladies are good friends of mine.”

Lexa looked up and saw a smirk flicker across Costia’s face. Obvious her ex hadn’t changed one bit, still drawn to bad girls - as bad as they came by the sounds of it. Lexa lifted her drink to her lips and downed it in one gulp.

“Why are you here?”

“Clearly prison hasn't improved your manners. I haven't seen you for over ten years. I thought a little catch up was overdue."

 **I’ve been away for too long and I can’t tell whether she’s serious or just trying to piss me off. I know exactly what Costia has been doing over the last decade…making movies, making millions of dollars and fucking scores of women - straight, gay and everything in between. What else is there to ask?**

“How have you been?” Lexa humoured her, the question emerging though gritted teeth.

“Oh fuck, it's so funny seeing you try to be polite," Costia commented with a laugh. "Since you ask, the movie business has been good to me. You know, my last role was playing a bitter detective. I drew on you for inspiration of course, fucking best performance of my life. I’ve just purchased a house in Sacred Oaks as well as the penthouses in New York and LA.”

Lexa didn’t bat an eyelid, modesty had never been one of Costia’s strong points. “Why would you want to move back to Sacred Oaks. Why the hell would you want to live anywhere near this shithole of a city for that matter?”

“To be closer to you."

“Fuck off. "

Costia laughed again. “I know. Being involved with you was one massive train wreck. You were fucking fantastic in bed and-” Costia reached out and ran a hand down the side of Lexa’s face. “-well, just look at you sitting there like a coiled spring. I know that, if you wanted to, you could kill me before Gustus had a chance to react.”

“That idea is starting to look tempting,” Lexa muttered, wondering where the hell Costia was going with her musings. Talking about fucking was again reminding her that she badly needed to get laid. 

“All the fucking in the world doesn't make up for the fact that you thought nothing of making me miss countless parties, or else I had to attend on my own, all because you threw a tantrum of some sort.”

Lexa snorted indignantly.

Costia continued, “And not to mention the fact that you refused to move out of that dive you lived in and in with me. God knows why you preferred squalor to luxury.”

“I valued my independence,” Lexa replied stubbornly, thinking back to her old one-room apartment with some degree of nostalgia.

“Yes, I know, you valued independence over hot-running water,” Costia replied dryly.

Lexa growled, she had qualms a plenty and most of them involved Costia dictating her life. “Enough with the pleasantries. What do you want, Cos?”

“Fine then, small talk has never been one of your strong points anyway,” Costia took a long swallow of scotch. “I came to offer my help, namely, to get you to leave town. Just say the word and you’re gone anywhere you want - the Caribbean, New Zealand.”

Although the situation hardly warranted it, Lexa found herself laughing. Costia was staring at her as though she’d gone mad. She very probably had.

“What’s so funny?” Costia asked cautiously.

**I’m thinking the exact same thing myself but the truth be told. Suddenly I feel more like crying than laughing. I sit staring at my empty glass, wondering just how much to tell Costia. How much of the pathetic story I should reveal. I signal for another drink.**

“Last week that was my plan. You were the ticket to my getting the hell out of here. It’s just that now that the offer’s on the table, I have to turn it down.” Once it was out, Lexa realised it had not been that hard to say. She was quick to respond to the perplexed expression on Costia’s face. “There's serious shit going down in Old Town and I owe these women my life. I can’t let them fight on their own."

The bartender slapped another double in front of Lexa. She picked it up, took a sip and swilled the liquid around in her mouth.

"And there’s this girl. I made it my business to save her life once. I can’t abandon her now.”

Costia knew exactly who Lexa meant but she clarified anyway. “That kid you went to prison for?”

“She’s not a kid anymore,” Lexa replied in a heavy voice.

"You’re in love with her?”

Lexa drained the last of her Jack and ground an ice cube with her teeth. She eventually shook her head awkwardly in reply.

**I’m not a liar…**

Costia just smiled as though she could read Lexa’s thoughts. There was always something more to it with Lexa. Things were never that simple. “You keep telling yourself that, Lex. It might make you feel better." The actress then stood up as gracefully as she had sat down. “Listen, I’ll give you some time to think and maybe get all naked and sweaty with your little girlfriend a couple of times so you can decide if she really is worth the price of going up against the Wallaces.”

Lexa stood in one powerful movement and jabbed her finger angrily in Costia’s direction. “It's not like that!" 

Almost automatically, Costia’s bodyguard was at her side with the pretence of helping the star back into her coat. However, he kept his steely gaze on Lexa, who he obviously regarded as a bit of a loose cannon. Lexa seethed inwardly for a few moments, her finger shaking in Costia’s direction before she realised how ridiculous she must have looked and lowered it. The object of her frustration flashed her a dazzling and very knowing smile. Lexa had lost the round, completely.

Lexa sighed. For all Costia’s many faults, the woman had a heart of gold. In addition, she still felt a small measure of nostalgia for what they had once shared.

“Hey...Cos...Wallace knows we used to be close. Have Gustus and his guys keep an extra eye out, even up in Sacred Oaks.” Lexa kept her expression serious.

Costia laughed it off. “I’m a fucking movie star. No one’s gonna mess with me, especially not that bastard Wallace.”

“He's powerful, Costia. You may be famous but he practically owns Basin City.”

“Well, it’s high time someone took him down from his throne,” Costia replied as though it would be a relatively easy task. “Looks as though that job’s fallen to you…so I would say ‘see you later’ but I don’t know how much longer you’ll be around.”

Lexa swallowed, her throat was already dry and she needed another drink. “See you in hell would be more appropriate.”

Costia smiled and turned to leave Grounder’s, as she did she spoke over her shoulder, “You’re too fucking virtuous for hell.”


	7. An Audience of One

**Chapter Seven**

**An Audience of One  
**

 

**I watch Costia leave Grounder’s. The goddamn broad's ass moves seductively, even beneath her coat. I know Costia’s intending her exit to be a reminder of what I missed out on, what I could have had if I wasn’t such a head case. Well Costia can taunt me all she wants, I definitely don't want her.**

**My gaze drifts back across the room to where I had last seen Clarke talking to Anya. Clarke's nowhere in sight. There’s just Anya staring at me over the rim of her glass. Anya's gaze isn’t as hostile as it has been in the past - a fact which doesn’t exactly have me feeling warm and fuzzy.**

Not wanting to appear too desperate to learn Clarke’s whereabouts, Lexa waited what she thought was an appropriate five minutes before crossing the room to join Anya. It was more like thirty seconds. She tried to strike up a nonchalant pose against a wall.

“Nice chat with Ms Green?” Anya asked placing her empty glass on the table in front of her and stroking its length as though she were stroking soft flesh.

“Words between old friends,” Lexa replied tersely. She wasn't about to be drawn into the other woman's game.

Anya smirked broadly, knowingly. “Everyone knows you and Costia Green were much more than friends Or should I say almost everyone knows - a certain blonde was too young at the time. She knows now though.”

**I groan inwardly. There was no telling what Clarke had deduced from what she had seen, let alone what Anya might have said to her. I struggle to keep myself from leaping across the table and smashing that smug smile from Anya’s face. Not exactly the best move to make on the boss of a gang whose joint I’m standing in.**

Lexa had to content herself with simply voicing her anger, “What the hell did you say to her, Anya?” 

Anya merely snorted indignantly. “I said nothing. What Clarke chooses to infer from the sight of your incredibly glamorous ex-lover ramming her tongue down your throat is completely up to her.” 

Lexa’s eyes darted around the club. Unfortunately with Clarke doing two shows that night, it was jam-packed. She couldn’t see Clarke anywhere in the throng and her eyes went back to Anya. 

“Do you know where she went?” Lexa asked urgently. 

“Why?” Anya replied brusquely, searching Lexa’s face for a hint of her intentions. “Why do you care where she is?” 

“Because…” Lexa swallowed awkwardly, she was hardly about to tell Anya things she would not even admit to herself. “I don’t want Clarke to get the wrong impression.” 

“Fine,” Anya replied, although she did not seem entirely impressed with the brevity of Lexa’s answer. “She went out the back door, probably taking in some air out in alley.”

Lexa frowned. “Alone?” 

Before Anya could say anything further, Lexa made a beeline for the back door. There were several people gathered around the entrance - bar staff and dancers on their cigarette breaks and a few other loiterers. Sure enough, one of them was Clarke, standing off by herself with the hood of her coat drawn up over her head. 

Trying to pre-empt what she might say, Lexa pushed her way through the others. She did not make it far before a hand darted from the shadows and latched onto her elbow with a vice-like grip. Lexa spun to find herself face-to-face with the steely gaze of Indra - the silent, samurai sword wielding assassin. Indra scared her. Lexa immediately mistook the cold stare on Indra’s face for one of displeasure.

“I just want to talk to her,” Lexa said insistently.

Indra shook her head just as insistently in reply. Using the hilt of her sword, the assassin pointed towards the other end of the alley. Lexa narrowed her eyes to pick out more details in the gloom. It was not until a shadow peeled itself away from the wall that she could make out that it was a man. She saw the swirl of a long, black leather coat. It rose to a high collar turned up around the stranger’s face. Lexa saw a hint of pale, almost white skin, too white to be hidden in shadow. 

Whoever he was, he was clearly walking towards Clarke. Lexa turned back to Indra and saw the woman's hand go to the her katana at her belt. Risking her hand being sliced off cleanly at the wrist, Lexa reached out and laid her hand on Indra’s forearm. Indra tuned to regard Lexa with a curious expression which Lexa couldn’t label as threatening or neutral. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Lexa said quietly, hoping that Indra would not feel her place had been usurped. 

As Lexa stepped out in the alley, she felt much as she had nine years earlier. Clarke’s safety concerned her personally. As her eyes narrowed on the strangers back, Lexa realised that she wanted it to be her role permanently. The thought of anyone else looking out for Clarke, no matter how good a job they might do, was difficult to accept.

**I study the guy following Clarke. It always pays to study your target as much as possible even though there’s only so much that can be gleaned by observation alone. He’s powerful, no doubt about that in his stride and carriage. I bet he’s as lean and hard as a rock under that leather coat. Coat’s expensive as well, although that doesn’t help me much, could be that he stole it…or just as easily, he could be a dealer. I move in until I’m just behind him and its right now that I feel naked despite the clothes I’m wearing. I don’t have a single weapon on me, not the comforting presence of a pistol snug against the small of my back or even a nail file in my pocket. Still, I have my fists and they’re still capable of doing some damage. I’m so close behind him now that I could reach out and clip him over one ear. If he’s noticed I’m here, he’s not showing any sign.**

“Can I help you?” the tone of Lexa’s voice, although quiet, meant serious business. 

The man turned to regard the interruption Lexa presented. His movement, although brief, was fluid and stealthy, enough to indicate to Lexa that he would be difficult to handle if events did take a turn for the worst. Lexa was determined not to quickly resort to violence, not while Clarke was so close. 

Lexa met his steely cold, almost mocking gaze with a calm, expressionless one of her own. She studied his face intently - he was oddly pale and what little light there was revealed a reddish tint to his short hair. Lexa immediatey pegged him as ex-military. His lips, thin and cruel, curved up into a sardonic little smirk. Clarke had obviously heard Lexa speak and had turned around. Her confusion at the scene unfolding mixed with an obvious twinge of heartache when her gaze fell upon Lexa.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was just going to offer the lady a cigarette,” he spoke in a dry voice. 

Lexa felt her stomach churn into a painful knot at the suggestion that it was none of her business. She realised that she was determined to make anything to do with Clarke, her business - especially when it involved a dangerous creep stalking the young woman in a darkened alley. 

“It is my business…and she doesn’t smoke.” Lexa didn’t buy his seemingly innocuous explanation for one second, it was all too obvious that he was looking for trouble. Exactly what kind of trouble, Lexa did not care enough to find out. “So I’d move along if I were you.”

He raised his eyebrows as though Lexa’s quiet threat amused him. Lexa couldn’t care less whether he was enjoying this or not, she was fully aware that Indra was stalking them from the rooftop high above. At any sign of trouble, the deadly woman would pounce with her katana and the intruder would be sushi within a matter of seconds.

“You are a feisty lady,” he drawled in reply. “If I were you I’d mind your manners in the future. A little politeness can go a long way in our game.”

Lexa tried her best not to look confused as she replied in a confident voice, “I don’t know what the hell kind of game you’re talking about, and I have no intentions of playing.”

He chuckled and glanced slightly upwards in Indra’s direction, as though he were fully aware that she was there. When he met Lexa’s gaze once more, his eyes spoke of even further knowledge. Whoever he was, he knew exactly who Lexa was. She struggled to keep her expression level even as a myriad of thoughts ran through her mind.

**I keep my eyes locked with this bastard despite the fact that it’s not as easy as it sounds. I look into those flint-like orbs and see nothing except an uncompromising evil that I know sure as hell ain’t normal. While I need to know who he is and what he wants, for the moment I don’t care. I just want him as far away from Clarke as possible.**

“Lexa?”

Lexa could tell that Clarke was trying to keep the fear from her voice, but it was there in spades. Her voice trembled slightly. Lexa was keenly aware of the fact that the stranger stood between her and Clarke. He could make a move towards Clarke and all she would be able to do was react a split second later. A split second too late.

“It’s alright, the gentleman was just leaving,” Lexa said loud enough for all of them to hear clearly, even Indra atop the roofline. 

“I was under the impression that the Ladies could be called upon to bestow their considerable attentions on a fellow with money. It could be that I’ve got some,” his lips curled up into a smirk. 

“We don't want your money,” Lexa shot back coldly. 

It was clear that he was not about to be put off by one refusal, he spun slowly on his heels so that his back was to Lexa. He faced Clarke down with the same cool gaze he had given Lexa. Even though Clarke tilted her chin up defiantly, Lexa could clearly see the fear in her eyes.   

“I was asking the little lady here,” he let out a chuckle at the response he provoked. “She looks like she could use a real man.”

A heartbeat later Lexa moved. She covered the ground between her and the intruder in a few powerful strides and then with a heavy plant of her booted foot, stepped in front of him to block his path to Clarke. At the edge of her vision she saw Indra drop down to a fire escape just above his head.

Lexa stood facing him. The blood pounded against her skull, her anger boiling and furious as it strained to be released. The intruder knew he'd provoked her. His only response at first was to grin as though he'd succeeded in some way. When she failed to respond to the immediate taunt, he continued with his choice of words.

“You won’t give me what I want, what’s to stop me from just taking it then?” his smile had morphed into a sneer. “You? Little girl playing cop. Or should I say...ex-cop? Murderer?”

Lexa met his cruel smirk - remaining impassive and unimpressed. She knew exactly what had happened on that night nine years ago. Although she had her demons, it had never been the killing that troubled her conscience or kept her awake at night. Each of those men had deserved to die. She only regretted she hadn’t managed to dispatch Cage Wallace along with them.

If he were thrown by her lack of response and his failure to provoke her into anything other than a passive rage, it did not show on his features. Instead Lexa took a step forward until she was directly up in his face, almost standing on his toes.

"Move along," Lexa hissed.

He cocked his head to one side. “Well then, I’d see to your little girlfriend…she obviously needs to get it from somewhere and I suppose it’s going to be you." He looked over her shoulder in Clarke’s direction. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. No one is going to get hurt today.” 

Lexa turned on her heels so she was standing side on to both Clarke and the intruder. She turned her head slightly to confirm that Clarke was okay. Lexa was relieved to see that although the young woman was visibly shaken, she did not appear to be on the verge of tears. Lexa nodded in reassurance before turning back to face the stranger…only he was gone, vanished into the darkness of the alley. Lexa frowned and peered upwards. Indra had also disappeared, no doubt following him to ensure that he left Old Town. 

Assuming a confident posture with both hands relaxed at her side, Lexa turned back to Clarke.   

“Okay, I totally missed what all that was about,” Clarke commented. Her brow was marred by a deep frown. “Was he trying to sell me drugs or something because I don’t…” 

“I think he was something much more than a drug dealer, Clarke,” Lexa interrupted in a dark voice, wishing the situation were that simple.  

Lexa had loved dealing to the dealers during her time as a cop. There was something inherently satisfying in cleaning at least some of the scum that clung beneath the rim of the toilet that was Basin City. It would have been simple, she could have delivered him to the doorstep of the nearest precinct…or confined him to the bowels of the nearest dumpster. However, from the look in the man’s eyes and the way he moved, Lexa suspected that she had better be on her guard or she would end up composting in a dumpster. Lexa was still buried deep in reflection when she finally noticed a hand tugging on her sleeve.

“Lexa, are you alright?” Clarke asked quietly. 

“What?” Lexa forced herself to turn her attention back to Clarke. 

“You’re worried about that guy aren’t you?” 

"No, he was just a low-life scumbag.” 

Clarke frowned, not about to be put off so easily, “But you said he was more than a drug dealer. He's dangerous and you know it."

**I growl inwardly. Yeah, I know what I just said before but Clarke shouldn’t have to worry about that guy.**

**That’s my job…and I’m fucking worried. I quickly change the subject, replacing it with something else that I would rather not talk about…Costia.**

“Whatever you saw with that woman in the club, there’s nothing going on between her and I,” Lexa blurted out, blunt and straight to the point out of necessity. 

If Lexa had been seeking to draw Clarke’s mind away from the stalker, she succeeded in spectacular fashion. The look that settled on to Clarke’s face indicated that she had suddenly remembered her reason for sulking alone in the alley. Clarke's expression flickered from anger to one of forced resignation which Lexa suspected was purely for show. 

“I don’t care…I mean…” Clarke huffed loudly and ended up repeating herself. “I don’t care.” 

“Really?” Lexa asked in a deliberately surprised voice. “So you’d be fine if Costia and I got back together?” 

Clarke’s face coloured. “Like hell I would! You can’t get back together with that woman stealing whore!” 

With Clarke’s little outburst, Lexa was proved right. There was no way in hell Clarke would resign herself to anything so quickly, even if she were fighting over a woman with a movie star. 

“Who’s she stealing me from, Clarke?” Lexa asked quietly, softly. “I’m not with anyone.” 

Lexa kept a calm gaze on Clarke, the younger woman was anything but calm. Lexa could have sworn she was one movement away from stamping her foot on the ground like a petulant child who was not getting her way. 

“From me!” Clarke spluttered. “From me, you absolute moron! I’ve been sending out every signal I know, pretty much screaming that I want you and now you go and let that woman in straight away…just like that?” 

“Clarke-” Lexa tried to interrupt in a quiet voice. 

If Clarke had not been so seriously angry, Lexa would have laughed at the comedy of the situation. Costia may have been a movie star, but Clarke had absolutely no cause to be jealous. Lexa was acutely aware that she had to put Clarke out of her misery. 

“What?” Clarke growled. 

“I wouldn’t get back with Costia Green if she was the last lesbian on the planet.” 

It took a few moments to register but eventually Clarke ducked her head as she realised how juvenile she must have sounded to Lexa. Allowing herself time to compose herself, she lifted her gaze once more and studied Lexa's face. Clarke was surprised to find traces of amusement there and she was struck by the fact that she had never seen Lexa smile. An embarrassed grin spread across her own face.

“That was ridiculous of me," Clarke said softly, shaking her head. "I have no right to even think like that." 

Lexa took in a lungful of air and replied quickly before she lost her nerve, “Maybe you do.” 

Clarke frowned. “Lexa?” 

Any further conversation was thwarted when, with barely a sound, Indra dropped down into the alleyway from where she had been stalking along the rooftops above. Her katana was still at her belt, and quite bloodless as far as Lexa could tell. The assassin nodded in the direction of the City to indicate that the stranger had left Old Town. Lexa did not bother pressing her for more information as she suspected that she would get none.

Indra then reached out and propelled Clarke in the direction of Grounder’s with a gentle nudge to her shoulder as though reminding her she had better get back inside.

“Oh shit, I’ve still got another show to do!” 

“Okay, Indra, show her back inside,” Lexa ordered swiftly, matter-of-factly. “I’m going to take another look around out here just to be on the safe side.” 

Clarke’s face showed a momentary flicker of disappointment when she thought Lexa might miss her show.

“I’ll be inside in a few minutes,” Lexa added, trying to sound as though it wasn’t entirely for Clarke’s benefit.

Indra and Clarke left her alone in the alley. By now the smokers who had crowded around the back door of Grounder's had moved inside to secure their spots for Clarke’s next show. It was something Lexa would have much rather been doing instead of prowling and poking around in the cold darkness outside. No doubt she would be ten times warmer inside for a very good reason.

Lexa thought back to Clarke’s earlier show. All she'd allowed herself were a few discreet glances at Clarke’s gyrating form. While it had almost killed her not to look…she knew it definitely would have killed her to look. So as she patrolled the alleyway, the thought crossed her mind that she ought not go back in at all. Eventually however, after spending one cold minute too many outside, she found herself drawn back to the door that would take her into Grounder’s. From the appreciate hum and whistles that emitted from within, she guessed that Clarke had already started her routine.

Lexa slipped quietly in the door and took up a position leaning against the wall with her arms stubbornly folded across her chest. There were few people around her as the vantage point offered a very poor view of the stage. All she managed to see were glimpses of pale flesh and flashes of trailing blonde hair **  
**

**I’m content standing at the back of the bar, and probably safe too given that I can see very little of the action up on the stage. However, I can sense it all around me. The air is charged with excitement and a sensual essence so foreign to me, so buried in the depths of my past that it is almost beyond recognition. The fact that it emanates from that young woman dancing on the stage is still difficult to accept. Although I can’t quite decide whether this is because of the effect her dancing has on me, or the fact that she’s dancing up there at all. I chide myself inwardly, I have to accept that the dancing is Clarke’s choice.  
**

**In the brief glimpses I manage to catch through the crowd, I see someone who can move as though born to it. There's grace and beauty, and yet there's also a strange power.  
**

**Like the moth to the flame, I am drawn through the crowd. As I thread my way through, I have eyes only for her to the point where I am barely aware of my body brushing past others. I can see all of her now, up there on that stage for everyone else to see as well. There’s not much to Clarke but she fills the stage with her presence.**

**I struggle to reconcile the woman she is on stage with the young woman that I can't stand to be around...and can't stand to be without.**

If Lexa was surprised to find herself at the front of the crowd, near the base of the stage, it never fully registered. The rest of the crowd and their accompanying noises disappeared for her. All she saw was Clarke, illuminated in the spotlights. Beneath their glare her hair was bright, almost glowing, and her skin was burnished to a golden sheen. They stood in sharp contrast to the green dress that she must have hastily dragged on after the leathers she wore during her earlier show. As the short slip of a thing swirled about her upper thighs, Lexa realised she preferred its soft lines to the hard black leather. It was all Lexa could do to keep her arms folded stubbornly across her chest, her back ramrod straight. 

With one hand wrapped casually around the pole beside her, Clarke tipped backwards with a graceful arch of her back. Her upside down eyes locked onto Lexa. Clarke allowed herself a smile at the sight of the ex-cop’s awkward pose. As Clarke pulled herself back up to hug the pole she remained focused on her target, determined to force a reaction.

Clarke's gaze didn't shift for the rest of her performance. The whole routine, every sensuous movement, was calculated to drive Lexa wild. Clarke imagined that the cold metal pole was Lexa’s body, and each caress would strive to bring warmth to that icy exterior.

Although Grounder’s was packed, as it always was for one of her gigs, every other face in the club was erased. There was only one person in Clarke Griffin’s audience. 

Clarke flaunted the smooth lines of the green dress she wore, stalking the pole with all the confidence and seductive guile that she lacked off stage. Up here, in her world, she could seduce Lexa with ruthless effectiveness. She progressed with suggestive caresses of her arms, legs and entire body that left little to the imagination. As soon as she spied Lexa’s lips part, even only a fraction, Clarke knew her dance was having the desired effect. With sudden deft movements, she peeled the little green dress away from her shoulders. It had hung there so precariously in the first place that it slipped over her arms and down her body as though it were water. Like a green puddle, it pooled at her feet and she stepped out of it, kicking it away like a discarded rag. 

Clarke was left dancing the skimpiest of underwear sets but her only concern was Lexa’s reaction. Even as she gyrated about the pole with her almost naked body, she watched the ex-cop for any hint of disapproval, or even revulsion and anger. There was not a trace of any, nothing except for the continued parting of lips and a pair of very wide eyes. 

**As I stand watching I desperately want someone to drag me away from what I’m seeing up on that stage. But no one does…and Clarke continues to drive me wild.**

Still moving around the pole, Clarke’s hands left it to trail over her body, fingers moving lightly over her taut stomach, hips and down over her thighs before back up to her breasts. She traced the outline of the perfect features in turn with the tip of her index finger before caressing the nipple beneath the scrap of fabric that covered them. Staring directly at Lexa she slipped each hand beneath the bra to cup both breasts, fingers moving beneath the fabric teasingly. 

**I feel my palms slick with sweat and a fire between my legs as I continue to watch her dance. The green dress is gone and in its place are two matching scraps of fabric that can't really pass as items of clothing. A stringy affair covers her breasts, while a pair of underwear barely cling to her hips. She turns, revealing those fabulous ass cheeks. Very little is left to the imagination but mine runs wild anyway. She’s working that pole as though it were born next to her and her hands are stroking her body as though they belong to someone who loves her fiercely. Fuck I wish they were mine! When she straddles the pole with both legs, sliding to the floor and back to her feet again, I nearly keel over.**

The music was in to its final flourishes before Lexa realised that the dance had to end. She knew that she could have stood watching Clarke for hours to come. However, as she brought herself back to reality, back to the noise and smell of Grounder’s, she saw the fine sheen of sweat that coated Clarke’s body and the gentle but insistent rise and fall of her chest that indicated just how much the dance had taxed the young woman.

She watched Clarke raise her leg, wrap it around the pole and fly around it one last time to finish with her body horizontal, supported by her leg and one arm holding the pole. Lexa ran her eyes over the taut lines of Clarke’s body, realising just how finely toned the young woman was. Clarke eventually lowered her legs to the ground and moved away from the pole as the enthusiastic crowd started up with applause punctured with catcalls and shrill whistles. 

It was as though the club was silent and Clarke couldn't hear the praise - or didn't care about it. Lexa knew that Clarke had danced only for her, and that thought was driving her wild. When Clarke made her way off the stage, Lexa began moving, following Clarke as she disappeared into a shadowed alcove behind the stage. 

Clarke was waiting for her. With the catcalls from the audience still lingering in her ears, Lexa found herself moving forward into Clarke’s body, folding the sweaty girl into her embrace. Clarke peered up at Lexa, her face shining with exertion and abandon.

“How did I do?” she asked, just loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

“You were fucking amazing,” Lexa whispered in a choked voice. “You can certainly dance.” 

“I know I can dance,” Clarke replied firmly, although exhilarated and slightly out of breath she kept her eyes on the woman holding her in her arms. “I don’t need you to tell me that.” 

Lexa frowned in confusion. “Clarke, what else am I supposed to say?” 

Clarke unleashed a positively evil smirk which astounded Lexa with the clear intentions. It was made all the more worse when Clarke nudged one thigh between the folds of Lexa’s coat and between her legs. The little vixen then grabbed Lexa’s ass with both hands and pulled her close. With the movement, Clarke succeeded in jamming her thigh hard against Lexa’s now aching sex.

Lexa heard her own breath catch, although she had absolutely no control over it. She followed it up with a low groan that escaped through gritted teeth.

“How did I do?” Clarke repeated, moving her thigh in a discreet rhythm against Lexa’s body.

**I can barely hear her over the blood pounding in my ears but I can see her. Blue eyes in the middle of that pale face, still flushed with sweat, staring up at me like they’re about to swallow me whole…something is gonna swallow me up after what I’m about to do, although in all likelihood it’s probably gonna be hell.**

Lexa stooped slightly, her cheek coming to rest against Clarke’s as she whispered in her ear. “I think this answers your question.” 

She then pulled back, but only far enough to find Clarke’s lips and smother them with her own. Clarke's lips parted almost instantly, an indication of her readiness. Having already wasted too much time, Lexa couldn't hold back. She drove her tongue into the heavenly warm space between Clarke's lips. A murmured sigh rushed out of her and her belly swooped with desire. She found Clarke’s tongue and explored it with firm, lavish caresses that sent shivers down both their spines. Lexa barely realised that she was grinding herself against Clarke's leg. However the fact registered that, if she kept going for much longer, she would be able to come with just that motion. It had been too long. 

Neither woman was interested in the fact that they were still standing in Grounder’s, not entirely hidden from view. The only thought that was running through Lexa’s mind was sweeping Clarke up into her arms and finding some privacy. As pleasurable as the release would be, Lexa didn't want to come grinding against Clarke's leg. She wanted the other woman's skin against her own.

It was a good thing that they were interrupted when they were, just as Lexa was about to force her hand beneath Clarke’s bra with the intention of getting her hands on the holy grail that lay beneath.

“Hey, Woods!”

Lexa broke the kiss abruptly as she recognised Anya’s angry sounding voice. She turned immediately to face the interruption but kept both her arms defensively around Clarke. As Anya approached, Lexa fully expected her to lash out physically. Instead, the other woman’s face remained seriously stony and she kept both hands at her sides. Whatever the reason for Anya's interruption, it became clear that it had nothing to do with Lexa's less than honourable intentions toward Clarke. 

“Anya?” 

“Sorry to interrupt your fun, ladies. We’ve got some serious trouble.”


	8. The Bullets Fly

**Chapter 8**

**The Bullets Fly  
**

 

**I stare at the body lying face down on the floor. It’s a must-have accessory for any hotel room truly aspiring to have that ‘authentic’ Basin City feel.**

**I’ve seen enough dead bodies in my time that this one should be completely unremarkable. It would be, apart from the fact that it’s on the floor of my hotel room. The pistol still held in a lifeless hand indicates that it was not meant to be a friendly visit.**

“Polis has seen its fair share of bodies,” Anya remarked from where she stood to Lexa’s left.

She appeared just as unimpressed as Lexa. The body was non-descript. It was just an ordinary looking guy wearing a crumpled suit. He lay on his back with a single bullet wound through the chest and blood had spread out across the carpet beneath him. Lexa saw the look of annoyance on Anya’s face and thought she was probably more worried about the bloodstain on the carpet and inconvenience of getting rid of the thing. 

Raven had found the body, she was leaning against the doorframe with a bored expression and a pistol in her hand. The only element that ruined the picture was her flimsy red nightgown. Clarke and Octavia stood just outside the door. 

“Ontari, where’s the problem. Couldn’t you just dump the body?” Anya demanded before her gaze travelled to Lexa, a smirk appearing on her face. “You interrupted the live sex show that Clarke and Lexa were about to perform for the audience at Grounder’s…nice show by the way, Clarke.” 

Lexa stifled a growl that warned Anya she was treading on very dangerous ground with her little joke. Clarke immediately ducked her head, a red glow spreading across her cheeks. 

Ontari didn't appear concerned for Clarke and Lexa’s combined embarrassment or for ruining Anya’s fun, instead, she deftly flicked the guy’s coat open with the toe of one of her pumps. That single movement changed everything. Anya’s expression changed almost instantly from one of annoyance to one of barely contained apprehension bordering on horror. Gleaming on the inside of the guy’s coat was a badge. A cop’s badge. 

“Why the fuck is there a dead cop in my place?” Anya directed her question to Ontari, who in turn inclined her head in Raven’s direction as though the woman was somehow at the root of the mess. 

Everyone in the room had immediately understood what had changed when the stiff turned out to be a cop, especially Lexa. It seemed as if the threat delivered by Wallace’s messenger a few days earlier was coming true. The cops were entering Old Town with something else on their mind other than a good time. If that wasn’t enough to break the truce then the dead cop lying on the floor of a room in Polis certainly was. 

“Raven?” Anya demanded. “Please tell me you didn’t drive this guy to suicide?” 

"Ha fucking ha," Raven replied sarcastically. "I heard a goddamn noise so I came to investigate. The fucker shot at me so I did what any self-respecting person would do. I fired back." 

Anya raised her eyebrows. "Since when did you start carrying a loaded gun around inside?”

"Do I need an excuse?" Raven replied petulantly. 

"C'mon, Raven," Anya said, her tone a little less harsh. "I know you're shaken up. Just tell me the facts."

As Raven replied, Lexa studied the scene, like any good cop would. She moved about the room taking a mental note of everything that appeared to be a part of the puzzle. The orientation of the stiff, the broken window. She ended up standing by the window with her back to everyone else when Raven answered.

“Fine. My last client had just left in a rather foul mood, claiming he hadn’t had his money’s worth…even though he most certainly had! Ontari and her girls escorted him out.” Raven spoke with more than a hint of indignation in her voice. "So when I heard the window break and all the banging and crashing next door here, I grabbed my gun thinking it was the bastard coming back.” 

"Why didn’t you just call Ontari to start with?” 

“Because any fucker who thinks I don’t give good value for money deserves a lesson!” Raven snapped, stomping one of her bare feet for effect. “I walked in here and the bastard shot at me. I fired back but when I turned on the lights it wasn’t him at all. It was this guy. How the hell was I supposed to know he was a cop?”

Lexa frowned, nothing added up. She walked across to the body and hunkered down beside it. The bullet had entered his chest, leaving a substantial tear in the flesh. 

“Lexa?” Clarke spoke up, so far she had said nothing since they had arrived on the scene.

Lexa didn’t reply, she stood and walked to the door where a single bullet had torn a chunk from the doorframe. Her fingers reached up and traced the splintered wood as she pursed her lips thoughtfully. 

“You were standing in the doorway?” Lexa’s question was obviously directed at Raven.   

“Damn bastard nearly took my ear clean off,” Raven replied, touching the appendage just to reassure herself that it was still there. 

“Pretty fucking awful shot for a cop,” Lexa remarked. “Missing from such close range.” 

“She said it was dark,” Ontari added.

“The room was dark yes, Raven’s eyes would have had to adjust from the lit hallway into the dark room whereas he was already in the dark, the door opens and there’s Raven framed in the lit doorway…hence the fucking awful shot,” Lexa turned and placed herself in the centre of the doorframe, almost as Raven would have stood when she opened the door. “And you fired two shots?”

Raven nodded in reply and Octavia added helpfully, “And one of them hit?” 

“No, they both missed,” Lexa said gruffly. 

Anya grunted, actually smirking. “I’ve always said you couldn’t hit the side of a barn, Raven.”

"Hey! I'm a fucking awesome shot!"

“Then what the bloody hell happened here?” Ontari demanded as she threw up her hands in frustration. 

“Someone else shot him, the hole in his chest wasn’t made by that pop gun Raven was wielding, her two shots went here…”

Lexa crossed the room, stepping directly over the dead body in the middle, before touching the wall between two unmistakable bullet holes punched through the wall. She then turned and faced the rest of the room, all eyes were fixed on her as though she had just stripped naked and done a dance. 

“Good catch,” Octavia nudged Clarke’s side with her elbow. “She’s fucking brilliant.” 

“Not really, simple, superficial crime scene investigation…and I’ve put enough bullet holes in people to know what kind of mess they make,” Lexa stated matter-of-factly.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” Raven demanded of the ex-cop, obviously not as impressed as everyone else was with her ‘C.S.I’ skills. "I'm not that bad a shot for christ's sake." 

“I’m saying that you didn’t kill him,” Lexa replied calmly. “And although I can’t say who did for sure I’ve got my theory as to who was behind it all…it sure as hell wouldn’t be the cops, as corrupt as most of them are, they would never stoop this low. It’s an awful lot like Wallace’s work. He’d love this sort of stuff.” 

“You’re so busy thinking like a cop you’re missing the point, Woods. It doesn’t matter who shot him or why, all that matters is he’s dead on our turf. Right in the guts of our turf. It means war plain and simple,” Anya stood with her arms folded staunchly across her chest. “That’s all that matters.” 

"Talk to the cops, there might still be some good people left who would stand up to the Wallace’s.” Lexa bit her lip as soon as the words were out, they sounded pathetic even to her own ears. 

“Who Lexa?” Anya demanded, seizing on Lexa’s discomfort, “I’m pretty fucking sure that you were the last bona fide hero in Basin City and look where you ended up! You wouldn’t be able to do jack for us. The only people who are going to get us out of this mess are ourselves.” 

“Get Clarke out of the building then. And Octavia. Everyone who doesn’t need to be here.” 

All the women in the room were alarmed when what remained of the window burst inwards, the exploding glass accompanied by a dark black shape. In the successive heartbeat, Anya whipped her pistol from its holster and would have dropped the intruder in an instant had she not recognised Indra in her silky black ninja garb. The woman dropped silently to the floor and rolled swiftly to her feet. Almost as soon as Indra was inside and back on her feet, the wail of cop sirens filled the air outside. Everyone inside Polis knew that it was now too late to get out. 

Indra gave the body a single glance before lightly padding across the floor to stand before Anya who immediately saw the single tear in the sleeve of her loose fitting shirt. She was well aware that if their bullets could find Indra then there was no way anyone else would get through. Indra nodded in silent agreement, her face stormy with anger as though she were pissed that someone had actually managed to hit her - even if it had only been her clothing. 

Anya issued orders coolly and efficiently. “It’s too late to get anyone out. Indra, you know where you need to be.”

The deadly woman nodded curtly again and was off at a run towards the stair well. She would make her way to the rooftop and from there make short and nasty work of any cop who tried to get into Polis via that route. 

As Indra disappeared, Anya continued, looking around Lexa’s hotel room to search out her younger Ladies. As she did, she saw Lexa’s eyes dart discreetly to where Clarke was. A trace of anguish was hidden behind a stony gaze.

**Fucking brilliant. As I stand in that room with the dead body and the incredibly brave and foolish women who act as though they’re the fucking Light Brigade, I can’t take my eyes from Clarke standing in the corner. This whole business has already gone far enough. I’ve at least got to try and end it.**

Anya started issuing orders. “Clarke and Octavia, I want you to-” 

Lexa seized Anya by her elbow, interrupting her before dragging her from the room and down the corridor. Away from listening ears. Anya scowled. The woman clearly wasn’t impressed at being manhandled from the hotel room in such a fashion. 

“Stop this nonsense!" Lexa hissed in a low voice so as not to be overheard. "I’m going out there, to hand myself over before any shit can start and you all get yourselves killed!” 

“It’s not just about you anymore Lexa! It’s about who owns Old Town.”

"Damn you and your pride!" 

"I'm not arguing with you, Woods. That's my final word." 

Before Lexa could offer up a further protest, Anya was on the move. She was a general marshalling her troops with an efficiently any military leader would be envious of. “Clarke…Octavia, I want you to barricade yourselves in the third floor laundry. The rest of you, mount up, time for a good old fashioned shoot ‘em up.” 

Anya then moved down the hallway, forcing Lexa to trot along behind her. As Anya moved down the main stairs two steps at a time, Lexa was right behind her. 

“People…Ladies, are going to die. This isn't worth it!” Lexa persisted, even if Anya appeared not to be listening.

Anya didn’t pause for a moment, not even to bother looking over her shoulder at Lexa. “Fuck yes it is! If we don’t go to war now then none of us will ever be safe again. It will be a return to the old days of beatings and rape and men taking what they want from us whenever they want. Do you want that for Clarke?” 

Lexa growled, now following Anya deeper into the bowels of the Golden Palace. “That’s not going to happen. I’ll protect her.” 

Anya was quick to respond, even as she broke into a run. “And you’ll die trying. Lexa, if you love her, you’ll let us do this, or better still, you’ll fight with us.” 

As though to back up her point, Anya stabbed a combination into a pad beside the door she had come to a halt in front of. The pad clicked and Anya swung the door inwards, she flicked on the lights to reveal a small arsenal of weapons stacked on shelves and in racks. Clearly the Ladies were well prepared for a rainy day. Anya picked up an empty holster and chucked it to Lexa as though that were the end of their argument. 

Lexa stared back at her and then at the cold steel in the rack opposite her. Before she knew what she was doing, she shrugged the leather coat from her shoulders and tossed it to one side. Such a cumbersome item of clothing would only hinder her movements. She was left clad in Anya’s cast off leather pants and her white prison issue vest which served to remind her of exactly where she did not want to return. The webbing slipped comfortably over her shoulders, the twin holsters nestling in the small of her back. She then selected a pair of her favourite Berettas from a rack nearest her, effortlessly slamming clips into both and then sliding them into the little pouches on her back. For the first time in nine years she felt the comfortable weight and the security that came from knowing she could draw both in a heartbeat. With the Berettas in her hand, she knew exactly how much damage she could do, and just how hard she was to stop.

Anya looked on appreciatively, a small smile on her face. 

“Why not,” Lexa replied, meeting Anya’s gaze. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

 **That was all I could say, ‘nothing better to do’ - as though I was about to sit down to watch TV or eat a meal instead of trying to save lives.**

* * *

 

The exterior of the hotel had definitely seen better days, along with the rest of it. As the figure in the car peered up at it he smirked, seeing not just a rundown hotel, but the scene of his triumph and vindication. He would finally get to pay back that bitch for what she did to him. Pay her back by killing her and all the stupid whores who had taken her in. He knew full well how much a cop like her hated innocent people getting hurt or killed. It was the reason behind everything. 

If Woods had been corrupt like every other good cop, he would have had his fun with Clarke Griffin nine years ago and that would be the end of it. Instead he was a shadow of his former self, unable to get out of the car in which he sat even if he wanted to.

He saw police Captain Pike approach his window and lowered it the merest fraction. The cop nodded respectfully, awaiting his orders. They were predictably short. 

“Kill as many of them as you can, try not to kill Woods but if it happens…well, it happens.” He liked the sound of it.

“With all due respect, I thought Woods was wanted alive?” Pike asked cautiously, not wanting to offend him.

"Listen Pike you piece of shit, do you want my father’s little pet watch dog, Emerson, to take care of you?” 

Pike shivered noticeably, “No sir.” 

“Then I’d do what I say if I were you Captain, lest you piss me off…and you can be rest assured that I’m just as nasty and unforgiving as my father.” 

Pike glanced up at Polis. He, like many of the other cops, had enjoyed several wild parties thrown by the Ladies in the hotel. All attended without the knowledge of his wife of course. Although a glance was all he spared the place, he only had to think of the fat envelope that would greet him after this job was finished to forget all about those parties and concentrate instead on ‘officially’ sanctioned destruction and murder. 

“Yessir, Mr Wallace, no problem.”

* * *

 

Lexa peered from the window and saw the cop cars parked down on the street below and the cops swarming about, assuming their positions. She felt a strange sense of irony wash over her, as though she was seeing events unfold from someone else’s perspective.

**I should be used to seeing things from the wrong side of the law by now. Especially after nine years behind bars and now running with Basin City’s most notorious prostitute cartel. I know the majority of the cops down there are following an order issued by the morally bankrupt fuckers above them. However I also know the real truth is that those grunts would have no qualms about those orders. They’re cut from the same mould as that backstabbing ex-partner of mine, Quint. Rotten scum who would sell their own mothers for the merest hint of a cut of whatever’s going down. As I look down at them scurrying around in their uniforms, wearing badges that mean nothing, I realise that I’m beginning to enjoy being on the supposedly wrong side of the law. The more I think about it, the more right it seems.**

**You know a city is fucked up when the criminals are the closest you can get to 'good guys.'**

“Am I interrupting your concentration?” Clarke’s soft voice sounded from behind Lexa.

Lexa shifted slightly so her head no longer presented a nice ripe target in the window. She turned her attention to Clarke. The young woman had been changed out of her stage costume, instead donning a pair of well-worn jeans, a plain grey sweater and her white trainer. Her hair still hung long about her face and down her back. 

“Vigil more like,” Lexa replied, feeling years worth of weariness lift from her shoulders at the mere sight of Clarke. 

“Do you think whoever planted that body knew you’d be able to figure it all out?” Clarke asked quietly as she too strained for a view out the window.

Lexa promptly placed her hand atop Clarke’s head and pushed her back down before she had the chance to see anything. Clarke plopped ungracefully backwards onto her ass. She opened her mouth to protest but received a rather stern look and she closed it again. 

Lexa shook her head. “It doesn’t matter how it got there. If Raven had charged in there with no weapon, the ruse would have been foiled completely. They did it because they can, to show us just how powerless we are in this game.” 

“Well, it’s not very nice,” was Clarke’s honest reply.

Lexa felt her facial muscles soften as though she was just one slight movement away from a smile. Clarke shared none of Lexa’s emotional reluctance and a warm smile spread across her face despite the situation they found themselves in. They remained like that for a few moment before the reality of what was going on outside came crashing back to Lexa. In fact, she was mortified that Clarke was anywhere near the front lines.

"Anya told you to get to the laundry,” Lexa’s tone became gruff and serious. “If all hell breaks loose-” 

“Then I’m safest at your side,” Clarke interrupted promptly. 

“Like hell you are,” Lexa was unconvinced. “I want you out of the way.”

“Lexa, if things turn to shit around here them it’s going to be bad for everyone no matter where they are,” Clarke knew full well she made a good point. “Besides, you and I need to have a serious conversation.” 

“Clarke, we’re under siege by a bunch of greedy cops who don’t give a damn whether we live or die, now is not the time for a serious conversation.” Lexa felt the cold weight of the pistols nestled against her back, reminding her of their situation. 

“We kissed, Lexa…unless you’ve already forgotten.” When Lexa did not respond immediately Clarke felt a sudden stab of anger. Somehow she managed to rein in her temper. “Are you going to go all staunch and quiet on me…or blame everything on my outfit?” 

“A lot can be blamed on your outfit, Clarke,” Lexa replied dryly, again almost cracking a smile. She lifted her head a fraction and peered out the window to confirm the cops hadn’t moved in the last few minutes. She was still looking out the window when she finished her sentence. “But my actions can’t.” 

“What can you blame it on then?” Clarke response was immediate, for better or worse she was going to drag everything out of Lexa, especially how the hardened ex-cop felt about her. 

Lexa watched the cops for a few more moments before turning back to Clarke. She met the blonde’s gaze evenly. Clarke had a determined set to her jaw and a gleam in her eye that hinted she was more than ready for a fight. She was dealing with the issues important to her, and everything else currently going on could go to hell. Against her better judgement, Lexa knew that this was exactly what she wanted, even though the surrounding circumstances could have been better. Sitting in a rundown whorehouse with an army of cops outside and a cold hard weapon in her hands didn’t exactly have romantic connotations. 

“I love you, Clarke,” the words came out as one drawn out sigh. As soft and tender as they ought to be. However, as if to reaffirm her fears, a siren blared at the precise moment she spoke and drowned them out completely. 

“You what?” Clarke frowned in frustration, she had barely seen Lexa’s lips move.

**I outwardly grimaced at the thought of having to repeat those horrid but delicious words. Sirens continue to wail outside and I wish I could leap from the window and silence them all for this one moment.  
**

**There are the cops outside, poised with their cannons ready to rip into flesh regardless of how innocent it is…and then there is this beautiful minx sitting in front of me. Someone who deserves far more than all this…more than this grumpy old escaped criminal…but I suddenly realise I don’t care.**

“I love you dammit!” Lexa heard herself almost shout. 

There was no trace of surprise on Clarke’s face after the words had been uttered, but rather a little grin of triumph.

The sirens stopped as though on cue for Clarke, and Lexa lifted her head to the window, suspicious of the silence. There was still no movement towards the building.

“I should be pissed off at your for making me wait so long. Between your stupidity and your denial. And the fact that you’ve wasted our time together with your sulking. Now I’ll probably die without ever seeing you naked.” 

Lexa arched her eyebrows in Clarke’s direction and replied in a deadpan voice. “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

Just as a pout was beginning to form on Clarke’s face, she saw the barest hint of a smile pass across Lexa’s lips. It was only for a second as Lexa must have felt it growing and turned quickly to peer out the window once more, her face lost to Clarke. When she faced her again, it was gone, replaced by the serious Lexa that Clarke knew all too well. 

“You're not going to die. That's a promise,” Lexa stated firmly. “Although I might think about doing you myself if you don’t listen to me and get to the laundry.”

“Only you include me getting to see you naked in that promise of yours?” Clarke asked cheekily. 

Lexa smirked, and was about to reply when the window above her shattered in a thunderous hail of gunfire. Panes of glass showered both women. Lexa acted instinctively, grabbing Clarke and rolling her away from the window, shielding her beneath her body. They lay, Lexa’s cheek pressed against Clarke’s forehead, her arms around her head. She felt the glass raining down on her and the sharp sting of each as it cut into the bare flesh on her arms.

Beneath her, Clarke’s fingers clung to the fabric of her vest in terror. The blonde’s breath came hard and fast against Lexa’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke whispered in Lexa’s ear, her voice barely sounding over the hail of gunfire. 

“Don’t be,” Lexa replied fiercely. 

“If it’s worth anything, I love you too,” Clarke continued, her tone just as fierce.

The gunfire ceased and Lexa knew that the cops were going to come a split second later. She lifted her head and stared deep into those blue eyes beneath her. The moment lingered beyond all sense of real time.

“It’s worth everything,” she replied in one breath.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Lexa was moving. She bounced onto her haunches to deposit a quick kiss on Clarke’s forehead before practically throwing the young woman beneath a nearby coffee table. There was barely enough space for Clarke to squeeze beneath it. Then Lexa was on her feet, the soles of her boots grinding against the broken glass covering the floor. She was about to feel for the Berettas at her back when something slammed into the side of her head. Lexa reeled backwards against the wall behind her, feeling as though the side of her head had been blown away. She raised her hand to the source of the pain, expecting to find a mangled mess rather than the narrow graze she did find. Thrown off balance she was caught unprepared when a cop in full SWAT armour and helmet flew through the window. He had time to disconnect himself from his harness and move at Lexa before she was able to collect herself from the bullet grazing her head. She stared down the barrel of a gun for far too many seconds before her arm lashed out and swiped it to one side. Bullets spewed from the weapon in an arc around Lexa, punching holes in the wall dangerously close to her body. **  
**

**My movements feel sluggish as I struggle with the cop. I try to keep the barrel of his weapon away from my body but I’m so tired, every muscle aches and I just want to go to sleep. There’s a flash of blonde hair in the corner of my eye. It’s more than just a glimpse of Clarke, it’s seeing the woman I love and all the associated pain that comes with that realisation.  
**

**It hurts like hell and I’m glad for it. I feel stronger. I know that I can’t let anything end today.**

**My life has just begun.**


	9. One Hell of a Party

**Chapter Nine**

**One Hell of a Party**

 

**The SWAT bastard catches his leg on the corner of a chair, losing balance. It gives me enough time to lunge forward and get both my hands on his assault rifle. We wrestle for it. During the struggle I look into his eyes and see the emotions laid bare. There's no fear there, just a cold, unrelenting anger that wishes me dead.**

**My face morphs into a sneer as I press forward. I'm not dying here.**

Lexa felt a sickening chatter course through her body as the weapon she fought over suddenly flared into life. The cop’s finger had jammed down on the trigger in the struggle and the weapon now rained potential death in all directions. Bullets slammed into the ceiling above and plaster fell in chunks on their heads. The few intact windowpanes behind the cop were smashed outwards. In a split second, it added a whole new element to their struggle. Lexa struggled to keep the muzzle from pointing not only in her own direction, but also away from Clarke. 

Their bodies were pressed so close that Lexa could see the sweat dripping from beneath the SWAT guy's helmet. She felt the heat of his breath on her face. Every sensation was condensed, her limits of awareness contained within the tiny space which they occupied. Lexa felt her muscles bulge with effort, veins threatening to burst beneath her skin.

The gun slipped in sweaty hands, its muzzle falling in an arc to punch a neat trail of bullet holes in the nearby wall. The arc continued swiftly, although it seemed to Lexa as though it were falling in slow motion. She knew that if it continued to spray the room as wildly as it was, something tragic would happen. A short screech of pain a split second later told her something had. The SWAT man’s hold on the trigger instantly relaxed and the gun’s potentially lethal chattering ceased. Lexa found herself with the gun in her hands only, its smoking muzzle pointed directly at the bullet hole it had made in her opponents right foot. With the guy seconds away from hoping around madly like a one-legged chicken, Lexa raised the butt of the weapon and struck him soundly on his temple. With barely a further sound he slipped to the floor and landed atop the broken glass. 

Lexa had no time whatsoever to rest on her victory, or attend to Clarke, as the gun was smashed from her hands by a well placed foot. Her next opponent was fast. He had his fists raised and feet planted in a combat position before she could recover from his first blow. She didn’t even have time to snatch her Berettas from their twin holsters at her back before his fist connected with her face. Lexa’s head snapped backwards and she stumbled until her back slammed into the wall behind her. She barely had time to get a good look at her attacker before his next blow. All she saw was a cruel face twisted into a horrible approximation of a grin.

His fists fell in a flurry, knocking her head left and right as her vision blurred. Lexa managed to push herself away from the wall only to be met instantly by a firmly planted foot in the middle of her chest. The air expelled from her lungs as she went flying to land with a thud on her back.

With all the resolution of one who had too much to lose, Lexa lashed out with her own leg in a swinging kick. Although it lacked power, it was unexpected enough to take him by surprise and knock him from his feet. Lexa know full well he had expected her to be down and out for the count after the flurry of punches she had sustained. She somehow found enough strength to drag herself to her feet, letting out a small groan as she did.  She knelt, trying to recollect her scattered consciousness. Blood dripped steadily from her nose to the carpet below. Lexa followed one drop with her eyes, watching as it fell in slow motion, bright red, before making a small splash of colour on the floor below. 

From the corner of her eye she saw her opponent rise to one knee and shake his head. When he lifted his gaze, Lexa met it full on. Her confident gaze stared him down. She stood first and he followed, neither seeming to be in a hurry to pounce. 

Thoughts were running through Lexa’s head like wildfire. She knew full well that she could draw both Beretta’s and pump him full of lead before he could even think about unslinging the weapon from his shoulder. Although she knew full well such a move could save her life, her hands did not move a hairsbreadth towards her guns. The thought of drawing the weapons and plugging the guy in full view of Clarke caused her a discomfort she had never felt before. She could see Clarke from the corner of her eye, still beneath the table as the fight raged all around. The young woman's eyes were wide with fear. 

Lexa moved, her foot planted forward as she brought her right fist up in a powerful uppercut to his jaw. His head snapped back instantly and she did not give him a moment to recover, laying into him with several further blows. On the fourth, he managed to get in a weak block, enough to throw her off and merely graze the side of his helmet. This energized him and they traded blows back and forth, moving within a relatively small space of the room as Lexa did her best to keep him as far away from Clarke as possible. She saw a gap and shoved her knee up hard into his groin, he groaned and doubled over slightly. It was all the time she needed to perform a spinning roundhouse kick which caught him a cracking blow on the side of his helmet. He went straight to the ground and lay in a groggy heap beneath her. 

“Behind you!” Clarke’s voice barely registered over the sirens outside and the sounds of fighting inside but Lexa’s ears picked up the familiar sound.

Despite the warning, all she had time to do was lift her own arms as thick, burly arms wrapped themselves around her neck in a chokehold. Lexa managed to get her hands between his arms and her neck which instantly rendered his hold less effective. Even so, she felt the arm muscles that held her strain with effort, tightening their hold on her until she could barely squeeze a breath out. 

Lexa felt hot breath and stubble on her cheek as the SWAT officer leaned in close to gloat over the prize he held, “Gonna get me a nice little bonus when I bring you in, you cunt! You're a disgrace to the Force." **  
**

**I struggle against the tree-like arm effectively cutting off my air supply, legs flailing and stomping the floor rather pathetically. To add to my humiliation his free hand travels down my body and he squeezes whatever flesh takes his fancy. I try to growl but with his hand across my throat all that emerges is a pathetic squeak. From my position, I can clearly see Clarke emerging from her hiding place, one thing obviously on her mind - freeing me. Fuck knows what she’s thinking she’s going to be able to do. I imagine her coming at him in all her fury, balled fists striking flesh to no effect.  
**

**Sorry kiddo, but I’m not going to let you play hero. This guy’s mine.**

Before Clarke had even made up her mind as just how she was going to stop that great brute from strangling Lexa to death, she watched as Lexa moved in a blur of motion. Lexa grabbed the guy’s great big groping paw in both hands and wrenched it backwards suddenly. A sickening crunch and a howl of pain followed immediately. This was followed just as quickly by Lexa’s body moving in a twisting motion beneath his weakened grasp as she brought herself face to face with him. 

One side of Lexa’s lips curled upwards into an amused smile when she saw the expression on her attacker’s face. His features were contorted in pain, eyes squeezed like a child struggling not to cry. Lexa’s grin slid from her face to be replaced by a mask of business-like efficiency as she went to work on him. Her knee came up hard, ramming straight into his groin. Before he even had time to clutch his balls in agony, her fists were pounding into his face. The blows knocked him left and right.

He managed to get in one poorly timed swing which she ducked beneath effortlessly. She moved around his body where she delivered several short punches to his ribs. The SWAT man was no lightweight but by this stage he had dropped to his knees in front of Lexa, a dazed ruin of his threatening self. Lexa grabbed his head with both hands and held him upright, sneering at him in contempt, 

“You're the fucking disgrace," she hissed. 

Her knee rose once again, although this time it caught him full beneath the jaw and snapped his head back brutally. He was unconscious before he hit the floor. 

Lexa gave the crumpled heap of a man no more regard than a pile of steaming shit as she turned and searched out the one person she did give a damn about at that moment. Clarke. 

The young woman stood in the middle of the carnage, glass and bodies flying behind her and yet she was oblivious to everything except Lexa. Clarke stood awkwardly, the reason for this being the gun cradled in her hands and pointed in the general direction of Lexa’s fallen assailant.

Clarke had obviously retrieved the fallen weapon but her uncertainty was written plainly across her face. As soon as her eyes met Lexa’s she threw it to the ground as though it were about to explode in her hands. She was still staring at the weapon when Lexa tackled her bodily and threw her back against the small section of wall between the windows behind her. 

“I told you to stay put!” Lexa's eyes roamed the rest of Clarke's body methodically, checking for bullet holes or any other wounds. All she could find was a small cut on Clarke’s neck from a piece of flying glass.

“That bastard was strangling you to death!” Clarke replied defiantly, eyes flashing.

Lexa glared in return, but there was no time for her to argue the point further. She turned to face the chaos once more, shielding Clarke with her body as she desperately searched for a way out.

 

* * *

 

Police Captain Pike listened intently to the melee of his men’s voices sounding through his earpiece. From where he observed the storming of the hotel on the street outside and listened to the chaotic reports from his SWAT team on the scene, events seemed to be proceeding less than satisfactorily. Those goddamn whores were putting up too much resistance, even in the face of his elite SWAT team. Pike ground his teeth in frustration, wishing he could just set fire to the whole place and damn the consequences. Hell, he’d burn all of Old Town without blinking an eye. 

Pike felt a chill run down his spine, instinctively he looked over his shoulder. A shape moved behind him and he spun around to find Wallace’s pet assassin bearing down on him. He sneered mockingly. In his opinion men like Emerson had no place on the right side of the law, even in a shit hole like Basin City. 

It was the last thought that Pike ever had before Emerson advanced, barely pausing in his stride as he reached out, grabbed Pike’s head and snapped his neck. Emerson tossed the corpse into the gutter and continued walking towards the tinted rear window of the black merc parked a safe distance from the fray. 

The window punctured and shattered beneath his fist as it smashed straight through its centre. Even as glass rained down, Emerson reached through the opening to grab the passenger by the front of his expensive wool suit and drag him effortlessly out. The weedy little man howled indignantly in protest as he emerged and was slammed back up against the car behind him. Emerson sneered, his face just inches away from the other man’s. 

The guy was skinny, even the expensive cut of his wool suit could not hide the fact that it hung on his frame. There was also something odd about his legs. Even though Emerson held him a foot from the ground, they dangled at an odd angle and did not look as though they could support his insignificant weight. 

He would have been handsome if not for his sagging, limp skin and hollow cheeks. Black hair hung in limp strands down to his shoulders. His delicate but sallow features were torn between an expression of outrage and one of terror.

“Little Cage Wallace playing cop with the big boys now are we?” Emerson spat in his face, his tone condescending and mocking. 

“Goddammit, Emerson, this is my show…fuck off!” Cage protested in a whiny voice. 

Emerson let out an irritated grunt and without warning released his hold on Wallace’s clothing. Wallace landed hard on his spindly legs. They instantly collapsed beneath him. His accompanying cry was ear piercing…clearly Wallace was unused to being treated like a piece of trash. Emerson’s hand shot out once more and his fingers closed around Wallace’s jaw, keeping him pressed in a pathetic, crab-like pose against his merc’s car door. Tears of humiliation and pain ran down the face of Date Wallace’s son. 

“You damn well know that your father entrusted me with bringing this bitch in! What part of that didn't register inside your thick skull?” 

Emerson watched Wallace’s adam’s apple as he swallowed several times before he mumbled a reply, “I might have heard something to that effect.” 

Emerson jammed his thumb further into Wallace’s throat, displeased with the answer. “I know for a fact your father called you into his office and extracted a promise from you that you would leave the business with Woods to me…and don’t lie you little piece of cock-sucking shit because I listened in on that conversation and heard you say ‘yes Daddy’ like the good little boy you are.” 

Wallace sniffed and his eyes narrowed angrily, he succeeded in meeting Emerson’s glare equally despite the disparity of their body positions. 

“Lexa Woods is mine, my father had no right to hand this over to you. I want that bitch flayed alive for what she did to me and then I want to claim what is rightfully mine - Clarke Griffin!” 

Emerson glanced over his shoulder and up at the windows of Polis. Smoke gushed from one and from another fell the flailing body of one of Brewer’s elite SWAT cops. The cop crashed down onto the roof of a squad car in a shower of sparks and glass.

Emerson turned back to face Wallace, “Nice to see you’re doing such a bang up job, Cage! Plant the body of a dead cop on the premises did you? Not personally of course because you aren’t even capable of climbing on top of a real woman.” 

Wallace tried to lash out with his fists but was quickly stilled when Emerson’s thumb dug in even harder. 

“So what if I did,” he squeaked. “The cops are all greedy sons of bitches anyway. They didn’t even need the dead cop as motivation, I just flashed the cash!” 

“Well call one of those greedy sons of bitches over here and get them to call off this fiasco…and I wouldn’t bother finding Pike, you’ll find he’s not up to taking orders right now.” 

Wallace began to stammer but Emerson was deadly unsympathetic. “Do it you little fucker, otherwise your legs won’t be the only part of you that doesn’t work properly!”

 

* * *

 

Lexa found herself clutching her upper arm as blood seeped from a bullet wound. Behind her she could hear Clarke breathing heavily in either panic or terrified exhilaration. She gritted her teeth and stared down the barrel of the still smoking weapon that had torn a hole in her flesh. It’s owner, was anonymous beneath his helmet and goggles. Lexa knew that would make killing him that little bit easier on her conscience but she had to get the drop on him first, he obviously had no problem with pumping her full of lead at the slightest provocation. 

“Don’t fuckin’ move, bitch, or I’ll put another bullet hole between your eyes this time!” 

Lexa doubted that, his superiors would probably shoot him if he took he out. Her death was most likely a pleasure reserved for a much bigger fish that this grunt. 

“I’m unarmed,” Lexa replied smoothly, there would be no begging from her.

Lexa kept her gaze fastened securely on the SWAT grunt, determined to protect Clarke with her own body if he opened fire again. As she watched him, she saw his head cock to one side as though he was listening to something coming through his earpiece. Lexa risked a glance sideways and saw something odd happening with each of the cops. They were backing off and exiting via any aperture they could find, window, door, hole in the wall. She turned her full attention back to the cop in front of her to find he was also backing away. Once he had reached a door at his back, he turned and bolted. 

The Ladies were left standing on the battlefield, surrounded by debris and bodies, some of which were still trying to crawl away. Anya reached down, grabbed one cop by the seat of his trousers and helped him out a nearby window. His scream was cut off by a dull thud into the pavement. The Lady wiped her hands before surveying the scene with a grief stricken expression. Several of her friends lay dead or wounded at her feet. She met Lexa’s gaze across the room and the two hard women shared a brief moment, Anya’s eyes reassuring the ex-cop that she should not blame the deaths on her involvement with the Ladies.

“You’re bleeding,” Clarke whispered, staring at the bullet wound with wide eyes. 

The ex-cop did not even spare the bullet wound a glance. “A scratch,” she replied abruptly, more concerned for the cut on Clarke’s neck. "We need to get that cut cleaned up." 

Clarke noticed her looking and her reply was just as stoic, “A scratch.” 

Lexa would have smiled if not for their present circumstances. As it was, she reached out and laid a gentle reassuring hand on Clarke’s upper arm. She then moved to the window, peering cautiously around the ruined frame at the scene below. The cops were indeed falling back, it had not been her imagination. In the midst of it all however, she saw something that made her fingers itch for a Beretta. Standing, staring up at her window was the thug who had accosted Clarke in the alley behind Grounder’s. It was as though he had been expecting Lexa to look down and see him. Her eyes narrowed in rage as he lifted one hand in a lazy salute. He then spun on his heels and strode in the opposite direction, offering Lexa a clear shot of his back. While it was an extremely tempting target, she knew better than to let her emotions get in the way of good sense. She wanted to speak to him face to face…again. 

Although next time she wouldn’t be so nice.


	10. The Danger of Turning Soft

**Chapter 10**

**The Danger of Turning Soft**

 

**My muscles are tense and I’m poised, a split second away from throwing myself out of the window and running down that leather coated bastard. I can see it playing out in my mind.  
**

**I leap out of the window, brutally ignoring Clarke’ pleas for me to stop. I drop to the ground as a bird of prey stalking a rodent. He turns just as I land and immediately starts running, leather coat billowing behind him. He’s not fast enough and I catch him. I wrestle him to the ground, scraping the skin from my knuckles. He’s in my grasp and I lay into him with my fists. I tell myself I’m softening him up before I ask the questions but really I just want to smash the crap out of him. Only when he’s dazed and bleeding will I ask him what the fuck he has to do with all of this business. My mind will process his answers, I’ll decide if he’s telling the truth and whether he needs more ‘softening’ up.  
**

**The whole scenario exists only in my head. A small hand resting on my shoulder snaps me out of it.  
**

**It's Clarke, somehow knowing exactly what I’m thinking. She just shakes her head slowly. When I turn back to look at the street below, the fucker has disappeared already.  
**

**Lucky for him.**

**I sigh in defeat as I turn back to face Clarke. I know this woman's going to make me soft.  
**

**Later, when the carnage is cleared and we’ve done what we can for our wounded, me included, Clarke leads me back to her room. I follow unquestioningly. I stare at her ass as we walk and I have another thought.  
**

**Being soft is going to feel fucking fantastic.**

 

* * *

 

Clarke’s fingers closed on the door to her room. She paused briefly before she turned the handle and pushed it open, ushering Lexa in before her. The reason for Clarke's hesitation was made apparent when she and Lexa stood awkwardly in the middle of what was obviously a personal sanctuary. Lexa couldn't help but feel like an intruder.

Every inch of useable wall space was covered with art work - paintings, sketches. Even the walls themselves hadn't been spared with paint applied directly to the patchy wallpaper to create a riot of life and colour. As Lexa stood and turned, trying to take everything in at once, she felt as though she had left Basin City altogether and stepped into another world.

In a way she had. It was the world that existed within Clarke's mind. The corners of her lips tugged upwards in an unconscious smile.

One image in particular stood out. Lexa felt her feet move of their own accord, guiding her forwards. The work wasn't particularly large, but it was pinned above Clarke's desk. The desk was covered in books, papers. An obsolete laptop sat waiting for another study session. Clarke obviously spent a lot of time sitting there, occasionally lifting her gaze to stare at the picture. Depicted there, in careful, precise lines and curves, was Lexa's own face. Although she recognised herself, the image didn't fit what she saw whenever she looked in the mirror. The image was too perfect, too peaceful. It was the Lexa that belonged in Clarke's head. She extended her hand towards the drawing, stopping just short of touching it.

"I don't look like that," she whispered, her fingers poised above the paper.

"Yes you do," Clarke replied. "You just can't see it."

Lexa smiled sadly and withdrew her hand. She turned to face Clarke for a moment, before turning her gaze back to the walls. Although she knew next to nothing about art, even Lexa could see that Clarke was gifted with a natural talent. Lexa had never set foot in an art gallery, but instinctively knew that every one of Clarke's pieces deserved to be seen and admired. Except the drawing of her of course.

"Clarke...these are amazing. I know you want to study law...but surely this is what you should be doing."

"Pretty pictures don't help people," Clarke said with a shrug. Still, she was smiling, obviously pleased that Lexa liked her work. She took several steps forward, drawing closer to Lexa. "Did you always want to be a cop."

The pace of Lexa's heartbeat increased with each one of Clarke's steps. She nodded and was prepared to leave it at that, before she surprised herself by continuing, "I didn't have much of a childhood, Clarke. I grew up in a bad neighbourhood...and in this shithole of a city, that's saying something. There were a lot of other kids - some were already bad, others just had the bad luck to be born. As soon as I was old enough...strong enough, I started protecting the little ones - from their parents, older kids...pedos and drug pushers...anyone stirring shit on my turf." Lexa lowered her gaze to the floor. All traces of softness vanished from her face. "I could never do enough. Not by myself. I thought maybe as a cop, I would have the authority...and the system around me to make a real difference. I was fucking wrong. I couldn't do shit because those in control of the system didn't care about those kids in that neighbourhood. About kids like you."

Clarke was now standing directly at Lexa's side. Lexa had to admit that she had never known anyone to move as gracefully in jeans and trainers as Clarke. She remained still as the young woman slipped a pair of thin arms around her waist and fitted their bodies together like two pieces of a puzzle. Lexa couldn't bring herself to move in return. She let out a shaky breath, one word on her lips.

"Clarke."

"Lexa...please." Clarke placed a hand on Lexa's shoulder, applying a gentle pressure to turn her around. "Let me in...give me control."

Lexa shook her head stubbornly. "I can't do that."

Clarke ignored the plea implicit in the words, reaching up to wrap her hands around Lexa’s neck. She used her grip to draw Lexa's head towards her own, close enough for their breaths to mingle. Lexa let out one breath. More of a surrender than a protest. Sensitive skin met, seconds later they both surged forward with a pent up intensity that didn’t allow any space for breathing. Clarke tasted the residue of battle on Lexa's lips, metallic and tangy. Rather than unnerving her, she pressed forward.

It was Lexa who tried to draw away. “I'm moving too fast. Clarke, I’m sorry-"

Clarke silenced Lexa with a brief, angry kiss. "Don’t you dare say you’re sorry or I’ll begin to think you don’t want me badly enough,” Clarke kept her face serious as she reached down, boldly placing her hand between Lexa's legs. Lexa closed her eyes and hissed behind her teeth, her hips jerking forward greedily. A small smile played across Clarke’s face when she withdrew her hand.. “And I know just how badly you want me.”

“Desire doesn’t trouble me in the slightest. I can deal with it.” Lexa let out a long, slow breath. She was no longer sure that was the truth. Even without Clarke's touch, the apex of her thighs was the source of a fierce, insatiable heat. “The only thing that I can't deal with is you getting hurt.”

"You don't want to hurt me? Fine, then stop pushing me away."

"Clarke-"

"Don't 'Clarke' me. Just let this happen."

"I...if it does...you know we won't be able to undo it." Lexa gripped the front of Clarke's hoodie possessively. "Clarke...I love you, I won't be able to stop loving you...there will be no going back?"

Clarke nodded in understanding. "Then we want the same thing."

 

* * *

 

**My feet are frozen to the bathroom tiles but the gooseflesh all over my naked body have nothing to do with the cold. I can barely hear the cascading water in the shower. While I stripped my own clothes off as fast as humanly possible in order to avoid having second thoughts, Clarke’s waiting for me to remove hers as well. The thought of it has my knees quivering and my lips parted in anticipation.**

**Her hoodie and t-shirt are stripped off over her head as she lifts her arms for me. Her head emerges from beneath the layers of clothing, hair askew about her face. There’s a hint of a nervous smile on her lips. I try to act nonchalant as my hands rove down her body over her nakedness. Squatting at her feet I remove her shoes, she steadies herself with one small hand on my shoulder. Trainers tossed aside, my attention is directed towards her jeans and removing the remaining barriers between my skin and hers. The buttons pop one by one beneath my fingers, all the while I keep my gaze fixed on hers. I can see she’s nervous as hell. Most people would find that strange considering she strips near naked almost every night in a room full of strangers but I know what we’re doing right now is so different it should be taking place in another universe. I slide the jeans down over her ass, revealing in the silky smooth skin as I continue downwards. Then I’m standing again, my arms securely around her waist. I caress the skin on her back as my lips pick out a trail across her shoulder to the curve of her neck. I try not to rush but before I know it my hands find her bra clasp. It's off and thrown the floor. Her tits are right in front of me and I exhale slowly. I hesitate, almost asking permission before I realise that she's already given it. The flesh is satisfying beneath my touch.  I’m leaning down to stuff one in my mouth while at the same time my fingers are yanking down the last piece of clothing on her body. Her knickers slide from her body and Clarke's naked in my arms. I have to stop and take a step back so I can stare at her. Clarke's poised like a dancer, lithe and sexy as hell. Her tits thrust out towards me. She’s fucking gorgeous.**

**Some part of me tries to say her name but I’m having trouble breathing let alone speaking.**

“Lexa?” a small, insistent voice broke through Lexa’s haze. “Are you okay?”

Lexa blinked once and her eyes focused on Clarke’s rather worried expression. She had to shake her head, not quite deciding whether the shake was to completely do away with the fluff in her head or reassure herself that this was not merely a dream. She nodded rather clumsily in reply to Clarke’s question.

In response, Clarke sighed as though Lexa were some sort of playful torment. She placed one hand on Lexa’s chest and gave her a gentle shove back towards the shower box, following her as she stumbled beneath the stream of water.

Lexa stood beneath the water, feeling its warmth flow down over her naked body. It stung the wound in her arm fiercely but she ignored it, instead concentrating on the naked woman standing not a foot away from her. Clarke’s wet hair was plastered to her head. Lexa reached down to pluck a wayward strand out of Clarke's eyes.

Clarke’s eyes roamed over Lexa’s body, picking out the numerous scars and unhealed wounds. Her hands went to the heavily taped wound in her side, tracing it gently and wondering how Lexa managed to keep walking, let alone display the spectacular power she had against the cops. It was an inhuman effort to keep her eyes from devouring every inch of her body…and licking her lips as she did so. Instead she managed to assume the nonchalant air of one who had seen it all before.

 “You’re filthy," Clarke said as she picked up a sponge.

Lexa didn’t reply, she couldn’t. If Clarke could pretend she wasn’t standing breast to naked breast with the woman of her dreams, Lexa most definitely could not.

As Clarke soaped her body, washing away the accumulated blood and filth, Lexa watched and felt her hands keenly. Every touch, every movement to the point where it became impossible to control her urges any longer. The fact that she hadn’t been laid for nine years meant that her body was practically screaming at her with a very need for contact. She was scared at her own urge to grab Clarke and throw her bodily against the tiles of the shower wall behind her. Her eyes slid closed and her fingers clenched into fists at her side in a vain effort to keep herself under control.

**As I stand in that shower like a plank of wood, I know she wants it as badly as I do. She wants me to thrust her back against the shower and fuck her. I won't let myself use her like that. No matter how she feels.**

With that thought, Lexa felt nimble fingers move over her nipples and a sharp tug in her groin that was both pleasurable and painful. She realised Clarke had lost the soapy sponge and was now working over her breasts with skilful and practised hands. Already weak at the knees, Lexa had to grit her teeth to keep from whimpering.

**Nine years is a hell of a long time.**

Of their own accord, Lexa's fingers unclenched at her side. She half growled, half sighed low in her throat in defeat. She then moved even faster than she had fighting the cops, sweeping Clarke up off her feet with two firm hands under her butt cheeks, spreading her legs in the process. Despite Lexa’s ferocity, Clarke responded to the kiss with just as much passion.

As the water beat down on Lexa’s naked back, she thrust her body hard against Clarke’s. So firmly they were pressed together, their skin melded together as one. No movement was possible save for tongues thrust deep in each other’s throats and Clarke’s hands moving across Lexa’s back. Both felt the thud of the other’s heart through the skin of their chests.

Clarke ripped her head away from Lexa’s and one hand reached up to grab Lexa by the hair. She yanked Lexa’s ear closer to her mouth. “I want you to fuck my brains out."

**There’s something in her words that brings me back to my senses. Without any warning I yank away from her, dropping her back to her feet. She’s staring at me in confusion with those blue eyes of hers. I know Clarke's asking what sort of game I’m playing, whether I want her or whether I don’t know what the fuck I want.**

**I know I should speak before she gets the wrong idea, tell her I want her so bad it hurts...and I do, I want her, but not like this. It’s too brutal and she deserves more of me, not just the sex starved ex-con who would take her in a heartbeat to satisfy her own lust. I’m not fast enough, and something akin to anguish passes over her features just before she throws herself out of the shower. I hear myself calling out for her to stop.**

Lexa was left standing in the shower, the water beating down on her naked back suddenly seeming cold in the aftermath of her own folly. She stood watching the water run down her naked legs to swirl at her feet and lost herself in the constant motion. Her head turned slightly and she met her own accusing, blurry gaze in the badly fogged mirror. The distorted face that stared back at her was partly a result of the mirror and partly her own features twisted into an anguished scowl. She had to fight the urge to leap out of the shower and smash her fist into that face. Instead she pounded her knuckles against the tiles in front of her repeatedly until they were purpled and the skin close to breaking.

“I'm an idiot,” she whispered.

With an angry wrench, Lexa shut off the flow of water and emerged from the shower. She wrapped one of the available towels around her body, tucking it firmly between her breasts.

She returned to Clarke’s room full of determination. The young woman wasn't there. While she seriously contemplated tearing the hotel apart searching for her, she heard the door she had left open close behind her. Lexa spun on her bare feet and found Clarke staring back at her. Clarke had dried herself off and dressed in a flimsy satin robe. At that point in time Lexa didn’t give a damn about her pride, she was prepared to fall to her knees and beg profusely for Clarke to forgive her mixed signals.

Clarke didn’t give Lexa the chance to even open her mouth. She took a determined stride forward and planted both hands on Lexa’s chest to give her a violent shove backwards. Taken by surprise and unbalanced, Lexa stumbled backwards until her movement was halted by a desk chair into which she fell awkwardly. Lexa watched Clarke with an expression of bewilderment and a feeling of complete helplessness. If Clarke wanted to tie her into the chair and beat her to a pulp, she’d have taken every blow.

However, the only blow that followed was one to her senses.

Clarke turned her back to Lexa, her posture defiant. With one deft tug she pulled the ties that held that held the robe together and let the satin garment fall from her slim shoulders to pool like water at her feet. The blow packed more of a punch that any number of physical strikes. Lexa’s eyes automatically over Clarke's body, wondering how the hell she had let something so perfect slip from her grasp. The complete picture was broken only by the scanty black lace of Clarke’s bra across her back and the g-string nestled on her hips. Lexa barely managed to stay upright on the chair

The scene seem to unfold in slow motion. Clarke spun on her heels, her body twisting in a movement that was simple but undeniably sexual. Her hips undulated in an arc as she moved her ass in a seductive sway while she turned. All the whole Clarke stared at her with a smoldering blue-eyed gaze that left no mystery as to the impure thoughts were running through her mind. Wet hair lay motionless about her shoulders and down over her chest. Clarke smiled secretively before tossing her head and sending her hair cascading around her. The movement flowed from her head to the rest of her body as she tossed it about in a series of graceful twirls across the short length of the room.

Lexa watched as Clarke's body moved, transfixed by the simple grace the young woman displayed. There was nothing flamboyant or technical to Clarke’s movements, she simply moved as though she were aware of every inch of her body. As though she knew the effect that each movement would have on her audience…in this case, her audience of one.

Having watched Clarke perform at Grounder's, Lexa immediately realised that this show was something altogether different. It was raw, intimate and revealing. Literally so when Clarke’s right hand drifted to the clasp at her back and with a quick movement, she cast the black bra aside. It was as though Lexa were seeing Clarke’s breasts for the first time, despite having been pressed fiercely against them just minutes earlier in the shower. Lexa watched the perfect shapes move towards her as Clarke advanced. She was tantalisingly near, and yet it seemed to take an eternity for her to come close enough for Lexa to touch her. When she was finally within reach, Lexa did not move a muscle, waiting for Clarke to allow touching on her own terms.

This seemed to be foremost on Clarke’s mind as she moved in front of Lexa, each movement taking her within scant distance of Lexa’s body yet keeping a huge chasm between them. Placing her hairs on either side of the chair, Clarke lent in close until her breasts were right up in Lexa’s face.

“I’m feeling a bit warm,” Clarke purred in Lexa’s ear. “I think I have too many clothes on.”

Lexa’s eyes moved down to the g-string Clarke was wearing which was hugging her undulating hips and barely concealing her sex. However, Lexa viewed that tiny piece of fabric as she would the heaviest coat, completely concealing despite that fact that almost all of Clarke’s body was laid bare.

“Shall I help?” Lexa asked, unashamed at the tremor in her voice.

“Fuck yes,” Clarke breathed, sliding her hips a little further forwards.

Lexa reached up with trembling hands and hooked both her thumbs beneath opposite sides of the stringy garment. With a delicate tug, she began to slide it downwards, over the creamy skin of Clarke’s ass. Lexa continued sliding her hands down over Clarke’s skin, her thighs, all the while her head moving closer to Clarke’s sex, so close that she could smell the strong, intoxicating aroma that made her own loins clench in response.

When Lexa had the g-string at Clarke’s knee, Clarke stepped out of it herself. The fabric was flicked away on the end of her toe and quickly forgotten. Clarke saw the hungry look in Lexa’s eyes and smirked, moving out of reach again. 

Clarke moved her naked body in a slow dance, far enough away from Lexa to give her room to move each limb to its fullest extent. With each new movement, Clarke opened herself further to Lexa’s gaze, leaving nothing to the imagination, and nothing concealed. Her hands roamed over every inch of her body, she cupped her own breasts and teased the nipples as if they weren’t already budded and rose red. Firm hands moved down over her stomach and to the apex of her thighs where she pressed the flat of her palm hard against her sex as though concealing it once more. She slid her fingers apart and. with them, the folds of her mound. All the while she kept her eyes tightly locked with Lexa’s, her gaze as intimate as her movements.

The dance was so intimate that Lexa felt as though her hands were already on Clarke’s body even though they were in actual fact clenched into fists as they rested on her thighs. Her breath was hot in her own ears to the point where she was sure she was panting with barely concealed desire. Clarke’s dance was the stuff of torture for someone who had been without intimate sexual contact for so long. Lexa once again unconsciously licked her lips.

Clarke turned, displaying her completely bare ass blatantly. She backed up to the point where she was practically sitting on Lexa’s lap, her legs forcing Lexa’s apart. She then bucked her hips, moving further downwards until her bare flesh was rubbing against the towel that barely covered Lexa’s own skin. The towel offered little resistance, bunching up until Lexa's thighs were uncovered.  

Lexa growled as Clarke’s ass began to move between her thighs and her hips instinctively moved until she was grinding her sex against the smooth white flesh. She had to fight to keep her hands from reaching out to grab Clarke’s waist and pull her down firmly into her lap.

“Touch me,” Clarke commanded in a whisper.

Lexa didn’t need to be asked twice, her hands moved to carry out exactly what she had been dwelling on her mind. She drew Clarke downwards as she bucked her hips insistently. With Clarke firmly in her lap, Lexa’s hands roved up over her taut stomach muscles, feeling the smooth skin slide beneath her fingers before their tips touched her breasts. They closed eagerly over the firm mounds and squeezed, gently at first, then more insistently as Clarke increased the pace of her hips.

Clarke twisted her neck and shoulders until her mouth was pointing in the direction of Lexa’s. The ex-cop's breath felt hot and fast on her cheek just seconds before she claimed those lips once again in another searing kiss. The awkwardness of their positions did not hamper the intensity of the kiss. Clarke brought her hand up to clutch at Lexa’s cheek, feeling it sweaty beneath her touch.

Somehow, at some stage during the kiss, Clarke managed to swing her leg over Lexa’s head. They broke their kiss and their eyes met for brief moments, blue melting into green. Clarke cupped Lexa’s cheeks with both her hands, exerting her own kind of dominance. It was her hands that moved to the towel tucked securely between Lexa’s breasts and savagely yanked it open. The offending piece of white cloth was tossed aside.

Lexa hands cupped Clarke’s ass firmly as she moved on her lap. Their kiss continued and did not break even when Lexa moved one hand to where Clarke’s thighs met. She placed her palm against Clarke's clit. Clarke responded by bucking faster, a growl sounding from her throat that might have been a word. Lexa didn’t wait for any further permission as she gently but firmly slide two fingers upwards into Clarke’s already soaking wet cunt. Clarke’s response was to grind her hips forward and bite down savagely on Lexa’s upper lip, catching it with her teeth.

As Clarke rode Lexa’s pumping fingers, she eventually broke the kiss, her head tilting backwards so her unseeing eyes stared up at the patchy ceiling above her. Clarke felt hot tears burning at the corner of her eyes, they were streaming down her cheeks by the time she lowered her gaze to look Lexa in the eye once more.

Seeing the tears, Lexa did not stop as she might have done in the past. She knew exactly what they were for and had she not been so intently focused on the feel of her fingers in Clarke’s cunt, she might have found the will to cry her own. Instead she pressed her cheek against Clarke’s heaving chest and managed to croak out a few words that distinctly sounded like, ‘I love you.' Although even Lexa couldn’t be sure.

Just as Clarke was beginning to make soft moans, Lexa stopped her thrusts and gently withdrew her fingers. Before Clarke had time to protest, she rose from the chair, lifting Clarke along with barely a grunt of effort. Lexa laid her roughly on the narrow bed before standing back slightly to admire the sight she had just created.

Clarke bucked her hips insistently, feeling lost without the touch of Lexa’s skin, not to mention cheated out of a release she desperately wanted. “Please stop fucking me with your eyes.”

Lexa responded to Clarke’s command by throwing herself down none too gently and biting her on the ear lobe. Clarke yelped once and then once more seconds later as Lexa had swiftly moved down her body to lower her face between Clarke’s legs. She yelped at the darting touch of Lexa’s tongue against her engorged clit. The second touch was a long, languid stroke that left her squirming and craving more. Lexa was eager to oblige, lavishing attention on her clit in an exploratory, teasing manner as she became accustomed to Clarke’s body and tested out the tricks that really made her squirm. Lexa found the spot and the speed easily following a particularly vocal cry of assent from Clarke and she settled to it with all the determination and perseverance she possessed.

Clarke tried to prop herself up on her elbows as she discovered she loved the sight of Lexa working between her legs but that lasted all of a minute before her head was thrown back against the pillow behind her as she tossed about uncontrollably. Lexa’s tongue was driving her to the brink, easily threatening to push her right over the edge but with the skill to prolong release and take her beyond without falling off completely.  Her hands clutched for something to grasp and she settled for fistfuls of Lexa’s hair. If she was hurting the ex-cop, it did not slow her down at all. If anything, Lexa's movements became more intense and focused.

Clarke's release followed moments later in a rushing crescendo of guttural moans and profanities that she would not remember even uttering afterwards. Her hips jerked upwards several times before they settled back against the covers with the rest of her sweat soaked body. As Lexa continued to stroke Clarke's stomach and thighs with tender fingers, she was all too aware of her own throbbing cunt and the spread of wetness that chaffed against the back of her thighs. She was also desperately tired.

As Clarke lay on her back staring through half lidded eyes at the ceiling, she had visions of leaping upright and throwing Lexa backwards where she would commence fucking her with the same intensity she had just received. However, as Lexa’s mouth trailed kisses up her body while she came to lay alongside Clarke, those thoughts were replaced by a lazy picture of the two of them spending time stroking and exploring each other's bodies. Lexa nestled against Clarke, folding her into a protective cocoon from which she never wanted to emerge.

They lay in silence for a few moments before Clarke opened her mouth to speak. It was only then that she realised Lexa’s soft and regular breathing indicated that she was asleep. She twisted her neck slightly to watch her lover. When Lexa slept, she finally appeared at peace with herself. Clarke reached out with her fingers and brushed back a strand of wet hair, tucking it behind Lexa’s ear.

Clarke drifted off a few moments later, Lexa's peaceful face seared into her memory.

 

* * *

 

Lexa woke in darkness, instinctively knowing that the lump tucked beneath her arm was Clarke. The pleasant fuzz that clouded her brain brought a small smile to her face which broadened when she reached out to stroke Clarke’s naked flank. Clarke sighed in her sleep, nestling closer.

As Lexa's eyes adjusted to the faint moonlight filtering through the blinds, Lexa stared at Clarke’s face. In the milky light her skin was a translucent marble. Lexa reached out to stroke it with the tips of her fingers, finding it warm and smooth. As she lay tracing Clarke’s delicate features, her fears assaulted the edge of her peace. They gradually eroded the abnormal feeling until Lexa was left in her usual state of mind, alert, wary and edgy. These feelings were amplified tenfold by Clarke’s presence.

All too aware of her nakedness, Lexa mentally berated herself for leaving her Berettas on the floor of the bathroom like a dirty pair of underwear. She managed to extract herself away from Clarke’s body without waking her. It was only when her weight left the bed that Clarke stirred half awake.

“Where are you going?” Clarke whispered in a sleepy voice, her eyelids remaining closed.

Lexa reached out to brush a clump of Clarke’s hair away from her forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

This seemed to satisfy Clarke in her sleepy state and she smiled, reaching out to touch the hand that lay on her breast. “Hurry back to me.”

“I will,” Lexa whispered, although she stopped short of saying _I promise_ , as the few words out of her mouth had already contained more than enough lies.

* * *

 

Lexa exited the Palace from a first floor window. She dropped silently to the ground and instantly melded into the darkness around her. As she walked away from the Palace and away from Clarke, a calm settled about her. She pulled up the collar of her coat, secure in the knowledge that what she was about to do was the only course of action.

Costia’s house in Sacred Oaks was a modest affair, especially when compared to the star’s flamboyant personality. Lexa punched in the security code at the entrance to the massive gates, knowing full well that Costia would not have changed it. It was the date they first had sex…which was also incidentally the date they first met. Lexa couldn’t explain why someone like Costia would hold onto a date that now meant nothing. It was the sort of thing her ex would do.

As she strode through the gates and bounded up to the front porch, she could feel the cameras on her. Costia or at least one of her bodyguards, was watching her approach. A suspicion confirmed when the front door clicked open as soon as her foot landed on the porch.

“Gustus,” Lexa inclined her head in greeting towards the shape that lay in wait for her as she entered, she recognized his bulk immediately. “I need to see Costia.”

“Never one to stand on ceremony are you, Lexa? Nor are you possessed of a large supply of patience,” Gustus replied; his carefully cultured tone and measured words at odds with his appearance.

“You know me too well. I need to see her. It's urgent.”

Gustus nodded solemnly but then inclined his head towards the stairs in an invitation for her to ascend. Lexa nodded her thanks and bounded up two at a time. There was no time to wait for any sort of societal niceties. Costia’s room was at the top of the stairs, straight down the hall. Lexa knew the route by heart, and as she entered without knocking she also recognized the familiar cloying scent that assaulted her nostrils. Sex…and lots of it.

Lexa made out a woman’s body moving in the semi darkness but instantly knew it was not Costia. She heard Costia’s moans from somewhere beneath the woman who pounded relentlessly above her. Lexa reached out and flicked the light switch, not really caring that she was interrupting. She watched as the woman gradually relaxed her pumping movements as she glanced over her shoulder to where Lexa stood. She tossed her hair and gave a small snort of annoyance before lifting her hips away from Costia’s body. As she rolled over onto the wide bed, Lexa not only saw the large, glistening dildo she wore but also recognised her instantly. It was Ontari, one of the Ladies who had been present in the Palace when the body of the planted cop was found. Although she was certainly not interested in the young woman woman by any stretch of the imagination, she did note that she was just the type of beauty that Costia creamed herself over. Ontari was not in any hurry to hide that beauty as she lowered herself back against the luxurious pillows.

“Leave us,” Lexa demanded.

Ontari raised her eyebrows and glanced across at Costia, who had by now lifted herself on her elbows so she could face Lexa.

Costia nodded without taking her eyes off her ex-lover. “Go take a shower, but keep that cock strapped on. I'll join you when I'm done here.”

Ontari lifted herself from the bed and moved to the bathroom that adjoined Costia’s bedroom. As she walked, swinging her hips in an exaggerated manner, she kept her dark eyes locked on Lexa’s in a silent challenge - staking her claim. Lexa just shook her head, she had absolutely no desire to revisit her past.

As soon as the bathroom door closed shut, Costia lifted herself into a sitting position and patted the space on the bed beside her. She made no attempt to cover her naked body.

Lexa shook her head. “This isn’t a social call, Costia.”

“Fuck, Lexa. Your manners really are atrocious. What the hell do you want?”

“I need you to leave town."

“Why? Am I in danger?” Costia couldn’t help thinking about herself all the time; it was just the way she worked.

“Yes,” Lexa said curtly, her lips pursed tightly together, “But-”

Costia made a sound of dismissal, interrupting Lexa before she could continue with the rest of her proposal. “You know full well I don’t give a fuck about the game that Dante Wallace plays. He can’t touch me and he knows it. Your concern is touching but altogether unnecessary.”

“I know you you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. This isn't about you...I need you to do this for me,” Lexa had to force the words out. For some reason they did not come easily.

Costia snorted indignantly. "Why the fuck should I do anything for you?"

Lexa bit her lip before continuing. The whole damn thing was almost too fucking hard. Then she remembered why she was standing in Costia's bedroom with her soul laid bare. "You owe me nothing, Cos...but we loved each other once. You also know me, you know how hard it is for me to ask anything of anyone let alone say please. I'm saying please now."

Costia's lips parted in shock. She then remained silent for at least half a minute. An eternity for the star. Lexa could almost see the memories flickering behind Costia's eyes. Some of those memories had been good ones. 

Eventually the actress inclined her head slowly. "What do you need from me?"

“I need you to leave town,” Lexa repeated with a sudden catch to her voice. “And I need you to take Clarke with you.”

It was then that Costia realised what had caused Lexa’s voice to catch like it had.

The hardened ex-cop was on the verge of tears.


	11. A Rat in the Kitchen

**Chapter 11**

**A Rat in the Kitchen**

 

Even before she fully shook off the bonds of sleep, Clarke could feel Lexa's absence. It was nothing to do with her tiny bed, and everything to do with the fact that Lexa had promised to hurry back. Her small nose wrinkled as she distinctly remembered that Lexa had promised to hurry back to her. Clarke was justifiably disgruntled that anything had been important enough to pull Lexa away from her naked body. As such thoughts toyed with her emotions, she heard the creak of the floorboards. Clarke sighed contentedly as she felt a weight settle on the bed beside her.

Clarke rolled over to find Lexa looking down at her. Lexa’s hair partially obscured her somewhat ashen face. Clarke also noted that she had once again donned her tank top and leather pants. Her leather coat was tossed over the back of a nearby chair.

“Hey." Lexa did her best to put on a convincing smile.

It emerged genuine enough, especially when faced with a sleep-tousled Clarke - blonde hair fanned out on the pillow, eyes sparkling. The sheet had travelled down her body to expose the creamy curve of her left breast. Lexa watched Clarke start to return the smile before it suddenly morphed into an angry frown.

“You fell asleep,” Clarke muttered.

Lexa raised her eyebrows. "I was just resting my eyes. I think you were the one who fell asleep first."

"I did?" Clarke propped herself up on her elbows with a horrified expression on her face.

"Although I'm taking it as a compliment. I was kind of worried I was out of practice."

Clarke suddenly sat up in her bed, the sheets falling away from her naked upper body and bunching around her hips. Her hands went to the base of the dirty garment and she began tugging upwards over Lexa’s lean stomach. Lexa moved to stop her, catching a hold of both her wrists.

“What are you…” Lexa’s protest trailed off as the sight of Clarke’s body stirred fierce longings within her own body.

"I'm making up for falling asleep!" Clarke protested, wrenching her hands free. "You were in prison for nine years, you can't tell me it's not on your mind?"

"It's not," Lexa replied a little too quickly. The mere mention of prison caused her blood to run cold. She didn't blame Clarke for it. There was no way Clarke could understand what that place had been like. Her mind took her back to the last time that someone's hands had been on her. _Inside_ her. Lexa felt a shiver course down her spine.

Clarke pouted, she looked down at her own body in a pointed fashion and then back up to Lexa. “What do you mean it wasn’t on your mind? How can it possibly not be on your mind?”

A short, brief smile flashed across Lexa’s face before disappearing once again as her angst reclaimed her emotions. It was one of Clarke’s traits she loved the most, the ability to make her smile even when humour and happiness were farthest from her thoughts. Gently she reached out and cupped Clarke’s cheek, brushing it lightly with her thumb.

“I meant it shouldn’t be on my mind,” Lexa spoke quietly. “But it always is.”

Clarke resumed dragging Lexa's t-shirt upwards. "Then you'll stop protesting?"

"Clarke..."

Lexa's whisper trailed off as the t-shirt was tugged over her head, covering her eyes and leaving her mouth uncovered. Moments later she felt soft lips press against her own.

**I wonder, if I surrender to her, whether I'll forget the smell of that damn laundry. That voice whispering in my ear and the feeling of being utterly powerless.**

For a short moment, Lexa was able to give herself over to those lips as she eagerly responded. Almost of their own accord, she reached out for Clarke's body, gently stroking as she sought out tender flesh. A sigh escaped the kiss when she found Clarke's tits, rubbing an erect nipple between her fingers as she readied it for her mouth. Lexa ducked her head, tearing her way out of the confines of the t-shirt, breaking off the kiss, all so she could wrap her lips around one of Clarke's tits.

"Fuck!" Clarke uttered a desperate groan, even as she placed her hands on Lexa's shoulders. Clarke shoved Lexa backwards. With her dancer's grace, she threw one leg over Lexa's hips, straddling her. She leaned forward, determination written clearly on her face. "Stop making this about me."

**I am aware of everything that’s happening around me and yet at the same time I know nothing except the feel of Clarke riding me like she means business. My leather trousers suddenly feel as though they’re a foot thick, an unwanted barrier between my skin and hers. I am incapable of protesting as she wriggles backward in order to strip them away.**

**Less than a minute later I'm naked beneath her. As hot as it is, I realise that I’m vulnerable in a way I swore I’d never be again. It's too late. As she sucks in a mouthful of tit I give myself over to the sensations coursing through my body. My cunt is throbbing in time with my heartbeat, crying out for much needed friction. I thrust upwardly desperately.  
**

**The part of me that’s still aware of my surroundings can’t stop thinking about the suitcase I’ve laid out on the floor. It’s packed full of Clarke’s stuff. She’s gonna hate me for doing this to her and she damn well should.  
**

**I need to stop her before things go too far.  
**

**Then her hand gropes between my legs - soft and yet urgent. Her finger flicks my clit and I’m so far gone that I almost come from that brief pressure. A whimper escapes my lips. I think it may have been a plea for her to stop but the little minx silences me with a fierce kiss. Seconds later she pushes two fingers up inside me and my back arches instinctively.**

**There's no way I’m gonna tell her to stop now. It feels as though she’s fucking me like she’s never gonna see me again. In the early morning darkness I clutch at her sweaty body, consumed by both my guilt and my desire.**

Lexa felt her fingers slip on Clarke’s sweat coated back as she tried to find a decent hold, wrapping her arms around that small but powerful body that was so intent on its one purpose. Clarke’s breath was loud and hoarse in her ear. Her own breaths came in between moans that she was trying her utmost to stifle.

Clarke’s fingers thrust deep into her cunt, palm working against her clit at the same time. Lexa had been on the edge of orgasm from the first thrust and it was only through some amount of willpower that she kept herself from falling over the edge.

She wanted to prolong the experience of Clarke moving within her for as long as possible, yet each new movement threatened to be her undoing. Clarke's mouth moved across every inch of her exposed upper body flesh, paying special attention to her already swollen nipples. These Clarke teased between her teeth and the fingers of her left hand.

Eventually Lexa gave up trying to restrain her release. She ground her hips against Clarke's sweaty body. Both her hands moved to Clarke’s ass, her nails digging into the tender skin. As Lexa’s breath grew short and urgent, Clarke met her gaze directly, managing to hold it even as she continued to intensify the pace of her movements. The connection was almost too intense, with Clarke focused while Lexa struggled to keep her senses from flying apart. As she came, she squeezed her thighs hard against Clarke and dug in nails in sharply in a vain effort to keep from crying out. A strangled gasp was all that emerged as her flesh contracted around Clarke’s fingers.

Lexa closed her eyes, allowing the thudding in her ears to gradually die down. As she came back to herself, she was aware of the feeling of being soaked between her legs. Clarke’s fingers still nestled inside her. A layer of dripping sweat coated her body and her limbs were uncooperative.

It could have been minutes or hours later that Lexa felt Clarke gently remove her fingers. The young woman then settled contentedly against the contours of her body. 

“We are not moving for the rest of the day,” Clarke announced in a quite but emphatic voice.

In her heart, Lexa agreed wholeheartedly. However her head knew that it was futile. She gave herself over to fantasy for a few precious moments, concentrating on stroking the soft skin of Clarke’s flank. Etching its feel and texture into her mind.

Eventually her lack of reply caused Clarke to raise her head. “I was hoping for enthusiastic agreement. Lexa?”

It was then that Clarke glanced to the floor, frowning at the sight of a fully stuffed suitcase. It looked as though it had been packed by someone who had no idea what they were doing and had simply thrown everything in. Clarke dragged herself into a sitting position and transferred her gaze from the suitcase to Lexa.

“Okay, unless I’ve started walking in my sleep, I didn't pack that suitcase. And I hate that blue shirt, so I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me. Are we going somewhere?”

Lexa peeled herself away from Clarke’s body and retrieved her shirt from the floor. She pulled it on, ignoring Clarke as she randomly grabbing make-up and other toiletries from a stash atop Clarke’s chest of drawers. 

“We’re not going anywhere, Clarke,” Lexa paused and drew a breath before she could bring herself to meet Clarke’s gaze directly. “You are.”

 

* * *

 

 

Every pair of eyes in the lobby of Polis followed Lexa and Clarke’s rather impressive entrance. Lexa came thumping down the stairs, a bulging suitcase held in one hand and a smaller vanity bag in the other. Clarke was at her heels, clad only in an oversized t-shirt that barely covered the tops of her thighs.

Clarke made a vain attempt to wrestle the suitcase from Lexa’s hand. “I don't know what the hell you're planning, but I'm not going anywhere. Even if that’s what you are thinking there’s no way Anya will agree with you. She’ll back me up because she knows how damn stubborn I am!” Clarke glanced down to the lobby and picked out Anya from amongst the assembled onlookers. “Anya, tell her…tell her I am not leaving!”

Lexa reached the lobby and moved to stand next to Anya, Octavia and Indra. They were accompanied by several strangers, a trio of suited, muscular looking men and a hooded female figure, dressed in an immaculate white suit. Clarke’s eyes automatically drifted to the woman. Recognition dawned and she scowled deeply.

“Who the hell invited her?” Clarke said as she stabbed an angry finger in Costia’s direction.

In response, Costia's lips curled upwards into an approximation of a friendly smile as she took a few steps forward.

“You're coming with me, honey. Things are going to get really bad around here, and you shouldn't be a part of it. Lexa doesn’t want you to be a part of it.” Costia glanced at Lexa for a moment, her smile fading. "She loves you, so much it makes me want to throw up. For fuck's sake, we're wasting time talking about this. Just come with us, kid. You'll be safe."

While some were anticipating Clarke to explode in a fiery temper, she remained composed. Her expression shifted from one of anger to disappointment, directed not at Costia but rather at her lover. She slowly turned to face Lexa and spoke in a voice no louder than necessary,

“That’s not for Lexa to decide...and I’m not a fucking kid.”

Lexa did not respond. Instead she met Clarke’s disappointed expression with a resolute one of her own. The tension in the air between the two was so thick it could have been cut with a knife. Both were stubborn women who had opposing points of view, and would brook no argument. It would have been a stalemate if not for the fact that everyone else agreed with Lexa.

“Clarke, we’ll take care of the Wallaces,” Anya spoke up. “We’ll deal to them for you, for Lexa and all the Ladies he’s oppressed over the years. He’s going down in flames mark my words…but you don’t need to be a part of it.”

Clarke’s jaw hardened. “What about Octavia? She's even younger than me."

Octavia scoffed in outrage but she was effectively silenced by a stern glance from Indra. She folded her arms somewhat petulantly but did not speak. It was then that Clarke noticed the suitcase sitting at Octavia's feet.

"Octavia's going with you," Anya continued.

“She's welcome to go with them. I'm staying put,” Clarke decided firmly, squaring her small shoulders in preparation for the ensuing argument.

Lexa was acutely aware of the fact that it was her place to speak, to convince Clarke that leaving her friends and her lover at this turbulent time was the best course of action. She had to admit that Costia had already spelt out the situation plainly. Lexa would do everything in her power to keep Clarke out of what was sure to be one of Old Town’s bloodiest and most brutal battles. She knew that she would have to have all her wits about her just to stay alive. While this was the plain, honest truth, she could not explain it to Clarke.

In the face of Lexa’s seemingly stony silence, Clarke marched up to her. “It’s not your place to tell me what I can and can’t do, Lexa,” Clarke growled. “You may think I’m going to get in your way-”

“You **are** going to get in my way,” Lexa finally spoke and her voice rang with a quiet authority that stopped Clarke mid-sentence. “There’s work here that needs to be done. Terrible, dirty work that people like you have no business getting involved in. You’re a genuinely good person, Clarke, whereas I’m not. But I can’t work if you’re with me.

"Lexa, I-"

"You’ll get me killed.”

Clarke stood staring in mild shock, her lips parted. She was struck silent by the force of Lexa’s words and any argument she might have made seemed silly in the face of the last statement.

“I don’t think you understand,” Clarke whispered, on the verge of tears. “I have to be with you.”

Lexa ducked her head, hair falling forward over her face. Her fists clenching at her side betrayed the fact that she was angry, but it was not clear whether she was angry at Clarke, herself, or just the world in general.

“There isn’t the time for this,” Anya growled, ever the pragmatist who was immune to pleadings and romanticism, “Indra, if you would be so good as to escort Clarke to Ms Green's car.”

Indra’s idea of ‘escorting’ Clarke was to pick the still protesting young woman up and toss her over her shoulder like a boisterous sack of potatoes. Obviously the move did not appeal to Clarke and she struggled futilely. The movement did not appear to trouble Indra in the slightest and she carried Clarke effortlessly out the front door and down to the waiting car. Costia paused to share a last, passionate kiss with her lover, Ontari, before following her entourage. With a nod from Anya, Octavia picked up her suitcase and went without a protest.

**I stand unmoving in the Polis’s lobby. I want to run out there and stop Indra from forcing Clarke into the car but I’m trapped by my own inhibitions and a strong sense of the righteousness of my actions. Clarke was right in saying this wasn’t my decision to make but she would never have chosen this for herself…she’s far too stubborn and she loves me too much. I love her more, which is why I’m doing this to her.  
**

**I have to say goodbye. I know she doesn’t want to hear it but I want to face Dante Wallace with nothing but Clarke in my mind. However, by the time my feet move, all I see is the car pulling away. I can't see anything through the tinted windows. Instinctively I know Clarke's watching me as I run into the middle of the road and stare at the car as it draws away like a lovesick idiot. Anya moves to my side to offer some sort of support but I tell her to fuck off.  
**

**Now Clarke’s gone I can turn my attention purely to spilling blood. A fucking river of blood.**

* * *

 

The night felt wrong. Lexa stood at the window, a silent figure watching the outside world. It was made all the more wrong by the fact that Clarke was gone. It had been less than four hours and already she felt the gaping hole in her existence. There was no irrelevant but irresistible babble and no firm body to draw into her arms. So Lexa stood staring into the darkness, unable to even think about sleeping.

Movement caught her eye. A lone figure staggered down the street, making slow process towards Polis. Lexa watched until she could see the figure more clearly. She knew exactly who it was without seeing the bloody katana being dragged along the road.

The fact that the weapon was being dragged at all sent a chill through Lexa’s body.

Moments later, she saw a figure dash into the street from the front door below her. It was Anya, running straight towards Indra. Lexa felt the world close in on her as she realised that something had gone very wrong.

"Clarke..."

Lexa wasn’t aware of how she made her way down to the street below where she had watched the scene begin to unfold. She was walking towards the two figures huddled in the middle of the road, shadows creeping in from all edges of her vision.

Anya cradled her dying friend’s head in her lap, stroking blood soaked hair out of her face. Tears ran unchecked down her normally stony visage. Indra’s normally pristine black garb was torn into rags that hung from her body, revealing the nature of her hideous injuries.  Her skin was gashed open in several places and one arm hung uselessly from her shoulder, the bone protruding from her elbow. Indra coughed and blood bubbled forth from her lips, blood was pooling out from beneath her body. Anya wiped away the blood running down Indra's chin with her own shirt.

“I think our carefully thought out plan has been shot to hell.” Anya choked backed tears, unconcerned at her loss of control in front of Lexa. “Those goddamn rat bastards…and that fucking bastard Wallace! I’m going to gut him like a pig!”

“He’ll pay,” Lexa replied blandly, too many thoughts were racing through her mind for her to concentrate on words.

Blood continued to bubble forth from Indra’s lips as she attempted to speak. It was clearly a great effort but there was obviously something that had to be said as she lay dying in the middle of the street. Eventually just one word came forth in a strangled whisper – _Ontari._

Indra’s eyes lingered on Anya’s as she gave one final shudder and she died. There was no sudden outpouring of grief from Anya, she simply laid Indra’s body gently on the ground and rose to her feet. She then marched determinedly back towards Polis. Lexa glanced down at the dead woman before back up at Anya’s retreating back. She felt nothing but cold, whatever it was that Anya was about to do to Ontari, she wasn’t about to get in the way. Her only concern was discovering Clarke’s fate.

When Lexa walked in the door, Anya stood at the centre of a cluster of ladies. Anya crouched down beside a trembling individual. Lexa moved closer to find that Ontari’s face was a bloody mess, her nose having been broken with one swing of Anya’s powerful fists. Anya’s face was scarlet with rage as she held Ontari by the scruff of her shirt. The bloodied woman showed her strength as a Lady by holding her leader’s gaze steadily.

Lexa wasn’t in the mood for a drawn out interrogation, her method would have been to plant one of her Berettas at Ontari’s temple and count to three…pure and simple. However Anya was all about her fists. She slapped Ontari over the head, sending another shower of blood to the floor.

“Stop lying,” Anya growled in response to a denial that Lexa had missed hearing, “Your name was the last word from Indra’s lips, and I trusted her more than life itself. If Indra says you’re responsible for this then that’s the truth of it! The only way you can save yourself is by telling me exactly what you told them…or I’ll smash your brains into the floor.”

Ontari’s bottom lip quivered at the ferocity of Anya’s words but she also sent a fearful glance in Lexa’s direction. "I only told them the route and the time. That’s all, I swear."

“Only?” Anya growled, clearly unimpressed. “I would have thought that information would have been more than sufficient to put the lives of our friends in danger!”

“Not all of us want to die for her!” Ontari lifted herself from the ground slightly and stabbed an angry finger in Lexa’s direction.

“So you gave Clarke to them to save yourself? And Octavia?” Anya growled, “As well as Costia…was she nothing more to you than a fuck?”

“No one is going to die!” Ontari protested, “Wallace swore that no one would die…no one except Woods and I don’t give a shit about her.”

“Indra died,” Anya replied quickly in a low tone that indicated just how sore she was about the death.

“I’m sorry, Anya.” Ontari whispered desperately. “I didn’t know you’d tagged Indra to trail their cars…if I had known-”

“You’d have done the same thing because you’ve clearly shown that self-preservation is more important than loyalty and your family!”

“They swore to me…” Ontari’s voice trailed off.

“You stupid little shit,” Anya spat, her voice dripping with fury. “This is Dante Wallace we’re talking about. The King of snakes and liars and all manner of scum. How did you ever think you could trust someone like that to keep his word? Costia, Octavia...Clarke, they're all dead and you fucking killed them!”

**I stand, a silent presence listening to their conversation. I know exactly what’s happened. Costia told Ontari where they were going and when. Whether it was an accident or out of foolish sentiment, I don't care. I swear I’ll kill that blabber-mouthed actress myself if she isn’t dead already.**

**I watch as Anya draws her piece and levels it towards Ontari. She plugs her without a moment’s hesitation. There’s a startled expression on Ontari’s face and an almost neat hole in the centre of her forehead.  
**

**Ratting out your family is an instant death sentence in Old Town, but I know exactly why Ontari did it.  
**

**I wouldn’t die for myself either.  
**

**Grim work done, Anya stands and turns to me. There’s nothing more to be done here. Anya already knows what’s going through my mind. Together we turn and run for the Oldsmobile sitting outside. My whole body feels like ice as I move, trying not to dwell on thoughts of what we might find.  
**

**Despite the fact that Anya seems to believe Clarke is dead, I know she’s not. Not only do I feel it…I know full well that bastard Dante Wallace has her.**

**Wallace doesn't want Clarke. He wants me.**


	12. Face to Face with the Monster

**Chapter Twelve**

**Face to Face with the Monster**

 

Lexa’s boot slammed on the pavement as she emerged from the car. The shock reverberated throughout her leg, as though reminding herself that she was actually awake and not walking into her worst nightmare. The Oldsmobile had arrived into the remnants of violence. The bodies at her feet were missing hands, arms…and heads - she knew that Indra had been at work. Her boots crunched on shattered glass and spent bullet casings. Sprays of red blood covered the pavement in dreadfully beautiful patterns. For someone who was both an ex-cop and an ex-con, it should have been relatively easy to stomach. However, the thought of Clarke at the heart of it all made Lexa sick to her stomach. She saw the violence through the eyes of someone unused to such careless disregard for human life. Lexa staggered closer to the cars, moving in an awkward gait as she stepped over and around bodies. 

As she approached Costia’s black SUV, her heart pounded against her chest. The solid vehicle looked as though it had been torn open with a can opener. She saw a slender body in what was once a pristine white suit propped up against the rear wheel. Lexa scrambled across the last few metres that separated her from Costia and fell to her knees beside her ex-lover. Blood had seeped outwards from several bullet holes in the movie star’s body, ruining her suit and leaving her near death. When Costia saw Lexa, the corners of her lips curled upwards into a grizzly approximation of a smile. 

“Sorry, Lex.” Her voice was cracked and barely audible. “It was a good plan.” 

“And I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to it in the first place." Lexa stared into Costia’s glazed eyes. 

"They..." Costia winced in pain with the effort of speaking but she knew exactly what Lexa wanted to hear most of all. “...took your girl.”

“Clarke,” Lexa breathed, her teeth clenching and grinding in rage. 

Lexa heard footsteps fall behind her but did not look over her shoulder. She knew it was Anya. The other woman placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing firmly once in reassurance. 

“They’ve long since cleared out. There’s no one else here,” Anya reported in a tone of disappointment as though she had wanted to find someone she could beat to a pulp. “No one alive anyway.”

“It was a mess,” Costia recalled, her breathing harsh and laboured. “There were so many of them-” 

“Cos-” Lexa began to silence Costia for her own good even though she knew there was nothing she could do to save her life. 

“Don’t you dare shut me up.” Costia was just as strong willed as ever. “There were dozens of them…they must have known I had my boys with me….it went on forever, smoke and bullets flying, so much noise.”

“Octavia’s gone too,” Anya added as Costia trailed off. 

Costia held Lexa’s gaze, her vision seeming to clear for a moment only to fog again but this time it was with unshed tears. Tears for an old lover, for the past, and for a future that she would never see. Lexa reached out and picked up Costia’s limp, bloody hand and held it tenderly. It was all she could do. 

“They took Clarke and Octavia…that woman with the swords died trying to defend them.”

“Indra,” Anya added in a heavy tone.

“Carved her way through every guy they sent against us, even after Gustus and his boys were dead….it wasn’t until that leather-coated bastard showed up… 

“Him I’m familiar with,” Lexa replied in a low voice. “You really shouldn’t speak…save your strength.” 

Costia let out a macabre chuckle. “Ha, I’m done for, doll and you know it." 

“I’m sorry." Lexa's apology was painfully inadequate. 

“Don’t be…” Costia let out a racking cough that shook her already weak frame - blood bubbled from her lips and flowed freely down her chin. 

Lexa smiled for Costia’s benefit, gently caressing the skin of her hand with her thumb as her body sagged further and her eyes glazed over once again.

“Never did stop loving you…”

“Bullshit,” Lexa whispered quietly, drawing a strand of blood soaked hair away from Costia’s face. 

“C'mon, Lex...I’m fucking dying. What I’m supposed...to say.” 

With the last quip still on her lips, Costia let out one last weak breath before her eyes slid closed and her hand slipped from Lexa’s grasp. Lexa bowed her head, struggling to keep from screaming aloud at the top of her lungs. All her rage, her anger and burdening sense of injustice seethed beneath the surface of her skin, straining to be released. It took all her strength to contain it, to harness it until it was time to unleash it on those who had done this. 

When she eventually rose to her feet her expression betrayed nothing except a steely calm. Anya moved to stand at her side. 

“We need to find Clarke and Octavia." 

From the ashen expression on Lexa’s face, Anya realised it didn’t need restating. It was foremost on Lexa’s mind.

“Yes,” Lexa growled. “At least I know exactly where she is.”

Anya nodded. “The Wallace mansion. You know they’ll be expecting you.”

Lexa turned to face Anya. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I want them to know exactly who it is standing in front of them when they die. My smiling face will be the last thing they see.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke’s eyes opened to meet nothing but darkness. She searched frantically but her eyes fell on nothing that showed the slightest glimmer of light of any kind. There was only an endless sea of black. She could have been a room that stretched for eternity, or one where the walls were closing in on her. Clarke squeezed her eyes shut once more and forced herself to draw shallow, even breaths to calm herself. 

As her thudding heart slowed gradually, Clarke gathered in a sense of her surroundings. Her wrists were tied above her head at a height that made it almost impossible for her to stand flat footed on the ground. Her shoulders were already screaming in agony at the unnatural position she was forced to assume. 

Dozens of emotions surged through her body. There was pain of course, not only from her position but from blows that she had received during her journey and the searing one to her cheek that she knew had knocked her unconscious. Someone had removed the thick woollen coat she’d donned in Costia’s car, leaving her dressed only in her satin nightgown. Clarke was freezing and she was terrified, as terrified as she’d been when their small convoy had been ambushed by dozens of armed men, their guns spitting fire and death in all directions...

_The road had been blocked by a fiery obstacle, forcing the convoy to stop. Clarke had watched as the bodyguards, seemingly tough and invulnerable men, had been torn to pieces by a hail of bullets as soon as they stepped out of their vehicles. Those who had managed to squeeze off a few rounds did so as a final act before they too joined their comrades in pools of blood._

_From being frozen for those first few moments, Clarke had been jolted into action as a bullet slammed into the toughened glass just beside her head. She threw herself over Octavia’s trembling body even as the cacophony continued to sound in her ears. As her breath came in gasps into Octavia’s hair, she squeezed her eyes shut and waited for her world to end in the searing heat of an explosion. As the seconds wore on a more rational state of mind returned and she realised that she was probably not be destined to die on the dark street._

_This was all about Lexa, and as such they were here to take her. All of these strangers were dying for her. Clarke raised her head and saw Costia Green, once Lexa’s lover, looking down at her with an ashen face. Clarke could tell she didn’t want to die but there was no trace of accusation in her eyes.  
_

_At that point, Costia slid a slim, deadly looking gun from a bejewelled holster at her hip. She swiftly cocked the weapon even as she delivered a tight-lipped smile in Clarke’s direction.  
_

_“Stay in the car, kid. We don’t want you getting caught in the cross fire. You’ll be safe here…” Costia’s words trailed off, the actress failed to even convince herself with her lies._

_Clarke stared incredulously at the movie star, hardly looking the part of gun-toting saviour despite her weapon and confident pose. Clad in her white pants suit she was, as always, the epitome of sophistication and sensual perfection. She opened the door and her lithe leg emerged, she planted her heel firmly in a pool of blood._

_Faced only with a view of her back, Clarke could not see the look on Costia’s face when the first of three bullets hit her. She could count them because she jerked violently with each one that slammed into her frame. Costia then slumped to the ground motionless without ever having fired a shot. Clarke watched through the open door as figures emerged from the shadows, evil men with their weapons trained on the two young women huddled in the rear seat. Despite the proximity of the advancing thugs, Clarke’s gaze was drawn back into the shadows behind them. In the gloom she picked out the shape of a man clad in a billowing coat, his profile lit faintly by the hot red glow of his cigarette. He took a step forward and Clarke instantly knew that she was staring at true evil, far more so than the hired thugs who were stretching eager hands into the car to claim their prize. It was the same man who had spoken to her in the back alley outside Grounder's. On that occasion Lexa was just metres away to step in. Here she had no one.  
_

_Clarke shrank away from the closest fingers but even as they moved to close on her forearm, the body they were attached to was suddenly headless. The headless shape dropped like a sack, revealing Indra posed with her bloody katana in a post strike stance. The deadly woman met Clarke’s eyes for a scant moment before whirling to dismember a second thug before he knew who or what he was up against.  
_

_Octavia looked up sharply in time to see Indra move in a blur and out of the path of a hail of bullets that were centred on her previous location. With Indra's arrival, Clarke felt a sense of hope. Through her limited view, framed by the open car door, Clarke saw glimpses of Indra as she carved a bloody path through her attackers. The air around her was thick with gushing blood as limbs and head flew with abandon._

_However, as the thugs stopped falling onto Indra’s blade, the coat-clad stranger took his position on the chopping block as though he too were eager to die. Even as Indra moved to strike him down, Clarke could see that this was no clear cut contest. He dodged Indra’s blade in an apparently effortless move, distracting her with the swirl of his leather coat which hindered her movements as it disguised his own. If she were surprised by her initial failure, the assassin did not show it, she kept up a relentless barrage of attacks as they danced across the ground, moving in and out of Clarke and Octavia’s line of sight._

_“We’ll be okay right, Clarke?” Octavia’s urgent voice sounded from beneath her. “Indra can beat this guy can’t she?”_

_“Of course,” Clarke replied in what she hoped was a fervent voice. “Indra’s never lost to anyone.”  
_

_There was a violent thud and the stationary car rocked on its wheels, followed by a second that was much more discreet chasing the first. Clarke glanced up at the cars roof even though she could see nothing through the thick exterior. In that impossibly small space, the two combatants danced as though they were on a football field. Clarke and Octavia listened to the sounds of combat, hearing manly grunts punctuated by further thuds and the deadly whistle of Indra’s katana as it sliced through the air.  It was the only sound that came from the assassin and her footfalls barely made a sound on the metal as she moved._

_While both girls lay in wait, hoping to see a man's head flying through the air, the sound that chilled them to the bone was that of a female’s voice crying out in pain not once, but twice._

_Clarke’s eyes were wide with fear as the scuffling above them ceased. A thin trickle of blood began running from the lip above the open car down from where it had gathered on the roof. She watched with a fascinated horror as the life liquid continued to flow, even as she was watching she saw something fly through the air to land several metres away from the car in a mangled heap. Clarke saw the glint of shining metal as Indra’s own katana protruded from her back. She lay motionless on the ground._

_“Indra,” Octavia whispered in a strangled gasp even as Clarke’s fingers closed over her eyes in an effort to keep the sight from her.  
_

_Octavia wrenched Clarke’s hand away and then struggled violently to be set free from the weight that  lay atop her body. Clarke struggled to keep her in the car but the young woman was hell bent on getting out and reaching Indra's side._

_“Octavia, no!”_

_Clarke watched in horror, expecting to see bullets slamming into the girl seconds after her exit from the car. However, none were forthcoming and Octavia fell in a heap at Indra’s side. No sooner had she done so though, black suited men were surrounding her and dragging her to her feet.  
_

_“That’s not the bird we’re here for,” Clarke heard a voice above her speak in a gruff tone. “We want the blonde one.”  
_

_“She’s in the car!” someone yelled.  
_

_Clarke’s heart raced, she hardly expected to be able to remain hidden in the car but to know they were coming for her and to be powerless to do anything about it was something else altogether. She frantically searched for a weapon, anything to use rather than just let herself be dragged away like some defenceless child. In the front seat, still lying in the hand of the dead driver, was a pistol. Clarke darted forward and snatched it up, fear rendering her oblivious to its blood smeared grip as she held it in her shaking hand.  
_

_The moment a  sneering face appeared in the doorway, Clarke pulled the trigger. A single click emitted from the weapon. In frustration, Clarke pulled the trigger repeatedly, all to no effect. Her attacker grinned at his luck and crawled forward to drag her kicking and screaming from the car. She was hauled out and dragged unceremoniously to her feet in front of the man who had just dispatched Indra as though it were child’s play. Although determined to defiant no matter what, Clarke felt weak and helpless in his presence.  
_

_“Emerson, what do we do about the spare?” A surviving thug shoved a terrified Octavia forward, still sobbing over her sister’s death._

_Clarke had glanced to the girl and then back to Emerson with an urgent look on her face as she demanded, “She stays with me!”_

_Emerson’s gaze travelled across to Clarke’s and she did her best to hold it, despite the piercing stare. She saw a cold, calculating presence behind his eyes, one completely devoid of compassion and immune to pleadings. Clarke lifted her chin defiantly, daring him to challenge her. Emerson finished searching Clarke’s face, leaving her feeling dirty and crawling before nodding to the man that held Octavia. Clarke was able to breathe some small sigh of relief as they were both moved towards waiting cars. However as much as she wanted to be able to reassure Octavia, no words would come._

It was now, after the violence of her kidnapping, that Clarke found herself in darkness and in pain. Despite the appalling nature of her current circumstances, Clarke sensed whatever happened next would quite probably be worse. She was almost content to leave her eyes shut and lose herself in thoughts of being somewhere else.

The door opened with calculated violence, slamming against the wall behind it with a ferocity that sent tremors through the chains that held Clarke’s hands. Her eyes opened and she had to squint at the bright light that surged through the door. As her vision gradually returned, a figure emerged at the centre of the searing light. 

 “Clarke Griffin,” a familiar voice drawled lazily. 

The voice was exactly the same as she remembered. It was everything else about him had changed over the nine years since she had last seen him. Clarke remembered a femininely handsome face, although it had seemed terribly wicked even to a small girl. His body had been trim in a well-tailored suit with his grip possessing a vice-like quality. 

“Cage Wallace,” Clarke whispered, instantly feeling twelve years old once more. 

She could see him in perfect clarity now as her eyes adjusted to the light. The first thing Clarke noticed was his gait, a crab-legged scuffle with knees at odd angles. One bony hand gripped a black walking stick which shook as he leaned heavily upon it. Cage saw the direction of her gaze and his saggy, hollow face twisted into a cruel smile that was anything but friendly. 

“I have your friend Detective Woods to thank for my ill-favoured appearance.” 

Clarke noticed that he had literally wasted away. His suit appeared to hang from a skeleton rather than a still living and breathing man. The thin, lank hair that hung from his head was nothing like the dark, lustrous locks that Clarke remembered so vividly. However, as his body had wasted, his arrogance and cruelty had been bolstered and magnified. It was etched into every crease of his face.  

“I’m just sorry she didn’t put you out of your misery,” Clarke tried to manage a rough growl but her voice emerged as a frightened squeak. “She’ll be back to finish the job.”

“I’m counting on just that. I’ve got a little surprise waiting for that bitch - a visit from an old friend that I think she’s going to enjoy.” Cage pursed his lips together thoughtfully as he looked Clarke up and down. He nodded as though reassuring himself of some important fact, when he resumed speaking his voice had taken on a petulant, high pitched whine. “While we’re waiting for her to arrive, I don’t see why there’s any reason we shouldn’t finish what I set about to do nine years ago.”

Clarke almost gagged. Tremors of revulsion shook her frozen frame as she recognised that look in Wallace’s eyes. A wave of nausea took hold of her at the thought of that perverted freak touching any part of her body. Wallace watched her conspicuous reaction with immense satisfaction, feeding off her fear. 

“That fucking bitch robbed me of my prize. Now I’m left with you…old and disgusting," Cage snarled. "You’re the one that’s going to pay for what she stole, Clarke. I’m going to take back those nine years she stole from me out of your flesh!" 

With a superhuman display of courage, Clarke forced her fear back inside her body rather than let it erupt in a display of abject misery and uncontrollable sobbing that she knew Cage would feed from greedily. She forced herself to remain calm in the face of his obvious excitement. 

“Whatever you want from me, you’re not going to get it,” Clarke swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat. “So you can just keep your foul hands to yourself or I’ll rip your remaining fingers off with my teeth!” 

He threw back his head, revealing his scrawny chicken-like neck, and cackled loudly for some moments. Clarke watched him through narrowed eyes, wishing fervently that Lexa would appear behind him and snap his neck like a twig. However, her lover was nowhere near her at that point in time and she was alone with the monster in front of her. She channelled her fear into anger and hate, despising the man thoroughly. When he had ceased laughing and wiped away the tears that had trickled from his eyes, he found himself looking at a girl whose gaze spelt out her hate in vivid detail. 

Cage snorted, somewhat ruffled that Clarke had not been reduced to a quivering wreck. He attempted to straighten his crooked frame to appear even more menacing.

“I’m going to want you to dance for me,” he announced. 

“Like hell I will,” Clarke replied, this time her voice did emerge as a growl, angry and firm. “You take these chains off me and I’m going straight for your throat!” 

Cage cackled again. “Brave words from a little girl. I think you’ll find we have just the right incentive to change your mind.” 

He gestured with an inclination of his head. Clarke watched with a sinking feeling as Octavia was dragged into the room, kicking out with her heels the entire time. Octavia managed to jab one hell into the toe of the man holding her and he grunted loudly. He responded by whipping a knife from his boot and grabbing her in a headlock. The knife went to her throat.

“Octavia!” Clarke hissed urgently, she jerked her gaze from the defiant girl back to Cage. “Don’t you dare hurt her!”

He lunged forward and made a silencing sound deep in his throat. “That’s quite enough from you. I’ll make this nice and simple for you. If you don’t dance for me, I'll have one of my guys start carving up your little friend here - piece by piece. Lenny, I believe a demonstration is in order.” 

The thug holding Octavia grinned as though Christmas had come early. He shoved Octavia to the ground and held her wrist to the ground, with one vicious downward slice of his knife, he sliced her little finger off just below the knuckle. The scream that followed seared right through Clarke’s soul and she squeezed her eyes shut as though that would make the heart-wrenching sound stop. 

Her chin suddenly felt as though it were caught in a vice. When she tried to wrench it away, Cage's grip only tightened.

“Open your eyes!” it was Wallace’s shrieking voice, Clarke tried again to twist away from him but he forced her to stay put. “Open your eyes and look at what you’ve done!” 

Clarke opened her eyes, at first no more than a mere slit through which she saw only blood. When her eyes opened fully, she met Octavia’s anguished gaze. The younger woman clutched her bloody hand to her breast. 

“Don’t do anything, Clarke,” Octavia hissed through gritted teeth, pain choking her voice. 

“Continue the demonstration please,” Wallace was clearly enjoying himself. 

“No!” Clarke heard herself yell, twisting her body urgently as though she suddenly thought she could wrench herself free from her bonds. “Leave her alone! I’ll dance for you, damn you. I’ll dance!”

Cage Wallace’s face lit up, “Excellent…Lenny, we need to find our little stripper here a stage on which to do her work. It better be good, or else your friend here will have trouble using a knife and a fork tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

For once in her life, Anya was at a loss as to what to do. She knew exactly what she would do under any normal circumstances. She would gather together her Ladies and they would take justice straight to the Wallace clan.

Of course, Ladies would die but that was the way it ran in Old Town. The Wallace’s couldn’t do this without expecting major retribution of the bloody and violent kind. However, this particular situation was thrown upside down by the fact that Lexa was in charge. This was the ex-cop's party and Anya was just a guest.

“You’re planning on going in there alone aren’t you.” Anya narrowed her eyes as she cornered Lexa in the supply room.

“Of course not,” Lexa replied as she slammed another shell into the shotgun in her hands. 

With the weapon fully loaded, Lexa tested its weight and grunted with satisfaction. She threw it over her shoulder and picked up the bag at her feet which was already packed full and straining at its fastenings. Anya stared after Lexa as the ex-cop turned and exited the room without a further word. Anya grunted and followed the blonde.

“You won’t get further than the boundary fence. Wallace’s goons will riddle you with bullets and his dogs will tear your bloody carcass to pieces,” Anya cautioned vividly. “You may be an irritating bitch, but you're fucking a girl I think of as my little sister. I would hate for your story to end like that…not to mention Clarke’s story. She’s counting on you to get her out of this, not get yourself killed.”

Lexa glanced back at Anya over her should as she paused at the top of the stairs, with a slight grunt she continued on her way. Anya followed once more, feeling as though she was trying to draw blood from a stone. She reached out and grabbed Lexa’s upper arm to halt her walk. 

Lexa turned glared at Anya, her trigger finger twitching above the shotgun’s trigger. 

“What do you want from me?” Lexa demanded. “Because right now you’re just slowing me down.” 

“I want you to stop and think about what you’re doing for at least a second!” Anya growled 

The bag in Lexa’s hand dropped to the ground and landed with a thud, the shotgun left her shoulder so it was pointed at the ground.

“All I can think about is Clarke in the hands of that family!” Lexa replied, her voice threatening to break. “I can’t wait around for you to gather your troops, to plan, to choose your weapons…I’m going in now.” 

“I’ll come with you!” Anya insisted.

“You know as well as I do that Wallace wants me. If I go in there with a pack of Ladies armed to the teeth and all guns blazing, he’ll kill Clarke and Octavia without a qualm. I can’t let that happen,” Lexa said firmly, her fingers clenched around the shotgun in her hand. “Even if things turn to shit I can still count on the fact that Wallace will let them go if he has me.” 

“This is Dante Wallace we’re talking about!” 

“I know, I can’t guarantee anything,” Lexa sighed, retrieving her fallen bag. “But you can promise me one thing, if...when I get Clarke out, and Octavia, you’ll get them out of town?”

“Of course,” Anya replied quickly, mesmerised by the heartfelt expression on Lexa’s face. “But you still don’t have to do this alone.”

Her bag back in her hands and the shotgun over her shoulder, Lexa continued walking. “Yes I do."

“Why? It’s suicide you crazy bitch!”

“Because..." Lexa drew in a breath. "I'm always going to be alone without her.”


	13. An Icy Reunion

**Chapter Thirteen**

**An Icy Reunion**

 

**Anya had underestimated me.  
**

**Dante Wallace is powerful without question, but even he isn't capable of understanding the lengths I will go to in order to ensure Clarke's safety. As I drop soundlessly into the backyard of his estate, my blood is pounding and I'm spoiling for a fight. I set down my bag of tricks.  
**

**The night is pitch black, without a trace of a moon but** **my eyes are already picking out the nearest guard. It's the middle of the night, he's bored and inattentive. It's all too easy to get in close. My hands grasp his head and, before he has even felt my touch, I snap his neck. As he falls to the ground I snatch his knife from his vest and fling it into the face of his buddy standing on the other side of a carefully manicured rose garden. With a slight gurgle, the goon goes down in slow motion, crushing the roses.  
**

**Two men dead in as many seconds and I’m not even warmed up yet.  
**

**I pause for a few seconds and smell the roses so to speak - along with fresh cut grass and rich, dark soil. For a city cop so used to gutters and garbage it’s like a foreign country. It’s all too perfect to be real, further ruined by the fact that I know monsters live here. The whole scene is eerily still with a hint of moisture in the air and that sense of foreboding that lingers in the air before a thunderstorm. Conditions perfect for the foul things I have to do tonight. There’s killing to be done…a lot of it.  
**

**By the time dawn breaks and sheds light on this evil place, my hands will be stained with blood.**

Lexa retrieved her bag in a firm grip and continued towards the house. She left her shotgun in its holster on her back for now, knowing that one blast would alert the entire household to her presence. Instead she pulled a knife from her boot. 

In the shadows ahead Lexa heard the low throated growl of an animal. She froze, remembering Anya’s warnings about the guard dogs. 

**There’s a mutt in front of me, one of those great big things people tend to breed for the purpose of ripping other people to pieces. Shit like that makes me angry. Another one joins the first, both look as though they weigh as much as I do…great big things, could probably tear me to pieces in less than a minute, making enough noise as they went to bring goons running. They don’t…for some reason dogs have never bothered me, probably because I don’t bother them. I go down on one knee and they bound up, eager tongues lapping at the palm of my hand. I grin slightly, probably more in anticipation of what is to come but at the same time I’m thinking I should get Clarke a puppy. Something cute and fluff. I'll spoil the hell out of it when she’s not looking.**

Lexa wiped the smile from her face as soon as she had left the dogs sitting on their hind quarters, swishing their tails back and forth across the grass as though they expected her to return for them. She was determined that her imagined future was going to come true. Dying a violent and bloody death trying to rescue Clarke was not how this was going to end.

The house loomed ahead of her. Her eyes darted everywhere, watching in advance for the one mistake that could end everything in an instant. Her boots moved from the manicured grass to the terracotta tiles with barely a change in sound - barely audible tapping. Lexa dashed across a small courtyard before disappearing into the shadows of a covered walkway. She heard footsteps rounding the corner ahead of her. With nowhere to go, Lexa was forced to take him down, driving her knife up into his neck. It was messy, but soundless. As he collapsed, Lexa held up his body. She dragged and shoved him behind a planter box, hoping that someone would overlook the splotches of blood on the tiles. 

Lexa moved ahead, feeling a light sheen of sweat begin to develop on her forehead. A door ahead clicked, as though someone had unlocked it with a swipe card. She moved into the shadow of a garden statute moments before the door opened and a black-suited figure moved directly across her path. He heard nothing as she slipped behind him and ducked inside the door before it closed and locked itself. 

Even as the door slid shut behind her, sealing her inside the Wallace residence, Lexa was moving with intent. Her bag of tricks was heavy in her hand. It was time to find another home for them.

Lexa had been in the house for less than a minute when she heard the rap of shoes on the tiles. Clutching her knife, Lexa folded herself into the shadows of an alcove and tried to slow the rasps of her breath.

The taps sounded closer, strong steps, each one ringing out the sound of power and merciless intent. Lexa smelt the man before she had even laid eyes on him. It was a thick, heavy, cloying scent that wafted through the air and assaulted her nostrils. She felt herself transported back in time - to that hospital bed with Dante Wallace standing over her broken and helpless body. She had been forced to listen to him when all she really wanted to do was reach out and wrap her mits around the man’s neck. 

Nine years later and she was almost as close again. Lexa wasn’t surprised that they had been drawn to one another, She had half been expecting Dante to be standing waiting for her when she entered the house, laying out the welcome mat. 

From her concealment, Lexa's fingers curled unconsciously around the grip of her knife. As Dante walked past, Lexa had time to agonise over her target, to debate whether or not to dart out and plunge the knife into his body. If she did, Dante Wallace, scourge of Basin City, would be dead. Lexa fantasised over the look in his eyes as she bled the lifeblood from his body. She tensed, ready to move when additional footsteps joined Dante's. There was a trio of black-suited goons trailing their boss. Lexa was good, but even she couldn't take down three without it being extremely messy and noisy. The building would be alerted to her presence and Cage Wallace would kill Clarke and Octavia the moment he found out his father was dead. Lexa chose to spare him...for now. 

As Dante disappeared through a door ahead, Lexa felt a physical pain over the lost kill.

Lexa pressed herself against the wall behind her and let out a slow breath, trying to dispel the tension that had built up in her body. She had a job to do. She found her first destination easily; kitchens in these places were always tucked away at the back of the ground floor. 

The kitchen was oddly deserted as Lexa moved amongst the ranks of stainless steel appliances. She remained tense and moved quickly as someone could pop in for a snack at any time. Her boots barely sounded on the tiles beneath them as she moved behind a stack of crockery and placed her bag down. Lexa knelt and slowly opened the zip. She felt like licking her lips in anticipation as she lifted the first neatly wrapped package out. 

After that she worked quickly, efficiently. She was in the kitchen for mere seconds before moving onto her next destination. After twenty minutes of moving stealthily throughout the lower level of the Wallace home, Lexa’s calling cards were safely stowed and she turned her attention to the matter that was never far from her thoughts. This was as much a rescue mission as it was about vengeance. As Lexa moved like a hungry wolf through the shadows, she knew she had to remember that lest the vengeance overwhelm her.

* * *

 

Although the shackles that had held her arms above her head in an unnatural position had been removed minutes earlier, Clarke’s shoulders still throbbed painfully. She sat in an awkward heap on the floor of the tiny room which was her cell, her captors having left her alone for a few moments at least. Even with all her limbs free, Clarke knew there was no chance of escape. Although left switched on, the light shone ineffectually and gave her skin a sick glow that matched the way she felt inwardly. It also illuminated the solid walls that surrounded her, broken only by the dark wooden door with its heavy metal handle. She briefly contemplated banging her fists on its surface in a blind rage. 

While it would accomplish nothing, at least it would have been something to do other than to dwell on her upcoming performance. overlapped 

Dancing was like second nature to Clarke. She was good at it, and despite the leering gazes directed at her near-nude body, she enjoyed it. It had something to do with being able to win over an entire crowd simply by the way she moved her body. All too often she had stared out into the crowd and seen the rapt faces staring back, faces of men who could think about nothing except the beautiful woman they were watching. Clarke had always viewed it as a form of power. 

Only now was she beginning to realise just how illusory that power actually was.

Clarke's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key in the lock. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, willing herself to wake up in her bed, safe in Lexa's arms. Thankfully her foolishness did not last long, she recovered in time to fix a fierce expression on her face. The door slammed open and eager hands reached for her body, dragging her to what would no doubt be the performance of her life - for all the wrong reasons. 

As she was half-dragged through a featureless maze of corridors, Clarke had difficulty moving her chilled, cramped limbs. Her legs did not want to walk let alone dance and her fragile arms ached with each tug. Dragged through yet another door, Clarke had to squint as she met bright lights. 

“Your stage awaits little whore." One of her captors propelled her forward with a firm hand. 

Clarke stumbled, barely avoiding a humiliating fall to her hands and knees. As her eyes adjusted to the sudden fury of light, shapes of men standing around her and hemming her in gradually formed. She blinked a few times and realised that it was not only the lights, but the very walls themselves that dazzled her senses. Light reflected off period-style gilt decorations, framing large friezes showing images from another era, half a world away. A venue fit for a star. 

Cruel faces stared at her, some merely outlines beneath the lights and others she could see clearly with their leering, eager expressions that made her sick to her stomach. Briefly she contemplated lashing out but there were a dozen men, and more, in the room. She was prodded forward through the crowd, a prize for all to ogle. The throng parted and Clarke once again had to lay eyes upon that pitiful specimen of a man. Cage Wallace. 

Cage wore a self-satisfied smile as he stood at the head of his goons. Clarke noticed his white-knuckled grip on his walking stick indicating just how much effort it required for him to stand upright for any period of time. She had to resist the urge to lunge forward and swipe it out from beneath his weight to send his bony carcass crashing to the floor. Thoughts of Octavia's pain-glazed expression warned her away from doing anything stupid. 

“I hope you’re ready to dance, Clarke,” Cage began, a slight cackle following his words. “My men and I have very high expectations for your show. Everyone here hopes that it will be _revealing_.” 

Clarke felt more than a little clammy, her stomach continuing to do somersaults but she kept her chin high when most in her situation would have long since been reduced to quivering wrecks. 

“I don’t do nudity, you fucking pig,” Clarke replied in a resolute voice. 

A cacophony of boos and hisses erupted. Cage’s cackle sounded above it all. 

“I’m sure when the time comes we won’t have any trouble ripping that flimsy, little garment you’re wearing off your body,” Cage eyed her up greedily. “It will warm you up for the games I have planned for you later this evening. I don’t want you going all shy on me when I finally get you alone. After all, I've been waiting for you for nine years.” 

Clarke was dead scared, yet she felt a sudden surge of anger that momentarily pushed fear aside. Her lips curled into a snarl as she surged forward before her minders could stop her. She stood nose to nose with Cage Wallace, wearing an expression of pure contempt.  

“If you make the mistake of getting your tiny little cock out anywhere near me, I’ll rip your balls off!” Clarke hissed. “Whether it’s with my hands or my teeth!”

She the spat in his face, watching her own spittle hit him between the eyes and run down his nose. His spindly fingers shot out and wrapped themselves around her neck. Clarke expected to wrench away easily but he held her with the uncanny strength of a madman, nails digging into her flesh. 

“I’m going to be the only one doing any ripping of flesh!” he replied, his voice straining with effort. “Now dance, before I decide to skip this part and go straight to dessert!” 

He released her with a slight shove backwards. When the back of her calves hit the low stage, she tripped and fell. However, even as she lay sprawled on her backside, she had the satisfaction of watching as Cage’s goons rushed to support their boss into a waiting chair. The exertion had proved too much for him as his weak little legs gave out. 

Someone at the back of the room turned on a sound system. Loud, clear music came through with an insistent, rhythmic beat that sounded like a porno without the images. 

“Dance for us, Clarke. We’re all waiting,” Cage lent forward eagerly in his chair.

Clarke awkwardly clambered to her feet and faced the wall behind her with her back to the crowd. Desperately, in the last few moments she had before the dance became unavoidable, she looked for an avenue of escape. The stage had wings and a curtain but it was blocked by two men on one side and a lone blonde woman on the right. Although Clarke had never laid eyes on the woman before, for some reason a chill ran down her spine. 

“We’re waiting, sweetheart," the woman spoke, her voice rich and throaty. She then licked her lips in a languorous manner. “Give me a little taste of what you give Lexa.” 

Clarke stared at the woman. There was a familiarity in the way Lexa’s name rolled off her tongue. She shuddered to think where from. She had to draw her gaze away after those few moments, it was almost as bad as looking into Cage’s eyes. 

Worse, because there was something that this woman knew and she was enjoying the fact that she knew it.

* * *

 

Lexa pressed her shoulder against the door in front of her and, with one last glance over her shoulder to confirm the coast was clear behind her, she pressed her ear against the cold wood. Her fingers moved to the handle and gripped it tightly. She heard the muffled, angry voices and knew there were at least two men on the other side. She felt the bulge of her shotgun on her back and her Berettas tucked in their twin holsters. While she itched for them to be kicking in her hands she knew that the situation called for something a little quieter. 

“I’m not missing this fucking show!” someone whined as though he was a small boy denied access to an X-rated movie. “If Wallace thinks I’m staying here while the fun goes down-”

“What you gonna do about it?” Another sneered without sympathy in his voice. “You gonna go tell Mr Wallace that you’re not happy with his orders? You never know, he’s in a good mood so he might not rip you a new set of lips across your neck.” 

“How the hell is the girl gonna get out of there anyway? She doesn’t need a guard. Little whore is probably sitting in there crying over her missing finger!” 

Lexa heard her teeth grind audibly. If anyone was going to rip new sets of lips, it was going to be her. 

“Boss isn’t worried about her getting’ out, it’s that bitch Woods you better be on the lookout for. Now stay put!” the voice said with an air of finality. 

Lexa felt pressure on the handle beneath her fingertips as it began to open from the other side. Without a moment’s hesitation she jammed her own hand down on the handle and slammed it inwards. There was a startled grunt from the other side and the sound of someone falling backwards. Lexa moved quickly through the door and straight in the direction she had heard the second man’s voice. He had watched startled as the door flew in on his buddy before Lexa’s fist met with his face. He immediately tried to duck beneath her roundhouse swing but she caught him high on the temple and he went crashing against the wall beside him. 

The first goon was already rising to his feet after the door had caught him on the forehead. Lexa was on him before he could rise completely, a swift elbow to the face snapped his head back and a spinning kick sent him back to the ground. Lexa planted her foot hard on his neck and heard a sickening crunch as it snapped. 

Before she had time to swing around to finish the other guy off, an arm went around her neck and he threw her against the wall. Lexa’s face smashed into the glass of a picture frame and she felt a sharp stab on her cheek. With his body weight thrown against her, the goon held her against the wall. One hand gripped a fistful of her hair savagely. 

 “Boss is gonna give me a private show of my own for this!” he hissed excitedly, no doubt already licking his lips in anticipation. “You’re not even that tough, Woods…you're just another whore.” 

Lexa could feel and smell his greasy breath on the back of her neck, his breath reeked of olives and pasta sauce. She felt his lips close on her ear and squeezed her eyes shut fiercely as he clamped down on it hard with his teeth. With one hand on her hair, keeping her face jammed against the broken glass, he moved the other beneath her vest. As he pawed at her flesh Lexa felt his grip slacken and she smirked. He should have plugged her straight away. 

“Fucking little whore aren’t cha,” his foul breath came in pants. “Gonna have me my own private show.” 

Lexa wrenched herself sideways, feeling the glass tear across her cheek as she did so, and twisted out of his slack grip. She came face to face with the scumbag and closed her fist around the bulge in his pants, jerking it with all the force she could muster as her fingers closed around his neck. She squeezed his windpipe between her fingers and thumb. 

“Open that door for me!” she growled. “Or I’ll rip your tiny little dick off!” 

“Okay, okay,” he stammered in a high pitched voice, trying not to move within her grip. 

Lexa slammed him against the electronic key pad beside the door, still retaining her hold on his balls. He squealed as his tender organ was yanked savagely once again. With trembling fingers, he punched in the numbers and the door clicked open. 

“Thank you,” Lexa whispered sweetly, retaining her hold on him as she peered into the dark room revealed behind the door. 

Although she could make out little at first, she eventually saw the outline of a small figure crouched against the far wall. A pale face stared out at her and it was with a mixture of relief and regret that she saw just one girl in the room. Octavia. As the light flooded the little room, Lexa saw the girl had both her hands tucked beneath her armpits. Her face was streaked with tears. 

“Octavia,” Lexa whispered gently. “I need you to come up out of there now.” 

The terrified girl shook her head, pressing her cheek against the wall.

"Hey." Lexa had to fight against the impatience creeping into her tone. "You're getting out of this place. I promise. Do you trust me?" 

Octavia stared back with wide, terrified eyes. Eventually, the girl offered up a small nod and rose to her feet. As she moved out into the hallway, Lexa thrust the goon she held into the room with such force that he was thrown headfirst into the opposite wall. He collapsed into a pathetic heap without a sound and Lexa shut the door, locking him inside the very cell he had been assigned to guard. 

Lexa turned her attention to the trembling girl in front of her. In a few seconds she had whipped the jacket from her own shoulders and thrown it around the girl. Octavia clutched the garment tightly about her and it was then that Lexa saw the little finger of her right hand was missing, the stump was a ruined and bloody mess of broken bone and flesh. The young woman quickly tucked the hand back beneath her arm when she saw Lexa staring. 

Without a second thought, Lexa folded Octavia into her arms, wrapping them around her like a protective cocoon despite their need to get moving and find Clarke. She felt Octavia shudder and as her face was buried in Lexa’s shoulder, muffled sobs emerged. Lexa let her cry for a few moments, awkwardly smoothing her matted hair.

“Octavia, did you see where they took Clarke?” Lexa asked, the gentle tone of her voice failing to mask her urgency.

Octavia shook her head quickly as she continued sobbing. Lexa pushed the girl away and held her at arm's length, keeping a firm grip on her shoulders in reassurance. Octavia choked back more tears but managed to stop beneath Lexa’s gaze.

“You have to pull yourself together...for Clarke.” Lexa had to resist the urge to shake the girl back to her senses. “We have to find her before something happens to her. Can you help me do that?” 

Octavia nodded, dashing her good hand across her nose. “I can’t help…I don’t know where they took her. She wouldn’t dance for them…she refused…until they did this.”

Octavia held up her hand with the missing finger and studied it as though it no longer hurt. She glanced back up at Lexa whose lips were pursed tightly together. 

“Cage is making Clarke dance?” Lexa asked and received a quick nod in reply, she furrowed her brow. “A large space then…unless he wants her to dance just for him.” 

“No,” Octavia replied quickly. “She’s dancing for all of them. The guys in suits. Please, we have to find her. They could be hurting her!” 

“We’ll find her before they have a chance!” Lexa replied. It were a promise to Octavia, herself and Clarke. Wherever she was. 

“I’m coming with you?” Octavia asked urgently, fearing more than anything that Lexa would leave her alone again. 

Lexa turned to look at Octavia, her pale face almost shining in the poor light and she nodded firmly in reassurance. “You’d be as safe with me as you’d be anywhere else in this place. Do exactly as I say, keep quiet, and don’t try anything stupid.” 

“Clarke’s my family!” Octavia said bravely. 

“Well, don’t go shooting unless I say so,” Lexa whipped a small pistol from her boot and passed it across to Octavia. “And I’m going to need you to turn out the lights when I give the signal.” 

Octavia held the weapon gingerly in her hand and furrowed her brow. “We won’t be able to see anything.” 

“Neither will they…and we’ll be expecting it,” Lexa replied calmly, arching a single eyebrow at the expression on Octavia’s face. “Or have you got a better plan?”

“Well, no,” Octavia replied, turning her attention to fastening up the coat Lexa had given her. “But we’ve got to have something better than charging in there and turning off the lights!” 

“Octavia, what did I say earlier?” Lexa asked testily. 

“Do as you say, keep quiet and-” Octavia began sheepishly. 

“Exactly!” Lexa interrupted. “We’re moving out, stay close!”

**I desperately want to wrap the poor kid up in cotton wool and bundle her away somewhere safe while this business goes down. I can’t afford to do that…especially with the surprises I’ve got in store for later. She’s right though, my plan stinks and it has more holes in it than swiss cheese. I check both my cannons and the shotgun. It’s nestled against my back and I feel it dig into my flesh reassuringly.  
**

**I’ve got a few cards to play, I can only hope my hand is good enough.**

* * *

 

“Can you hear the music?” Octavia whispered.

Lexa cocked her head and nodded in response to Octavia’s question. It was echoing through the walls, distant but close by. The sound led them to a small door, almost hidden which Lexa hoped was a side entrance of sorts. She heard a sharp intake of breath from Octavia behind her as she placed her hand on the door handle and pushed it inwards. No alarms sounded, no goons rushed to meet them with raised weapons. Both women could now distinctly hear the throbbing, sexual beat that emanated from somewhere inside. Added to this, were men’s voices raised in raucous shouts. While most were fused into an undecipherable cacophony, a few vulgar comments could clearly be made out.

Octavia found herself rushing to keep up with Lexa as the ex-cop practically ran into the darkened room behind the door. They emerged in a sort of backstage area with light streaming up ahead from the stage itself. She only caught partial glimpses of the person on the stage, but she knew in an instant that it was Clarke. Instinctively, Octavia reached out a hand to restrain Lexa. She felt the older woman’s muscles tense beneath her touch. 

Lexa was aware of nothing besides the fact that she could see flashes of Clarke. White skin, blonde hair whirling.  An intense, hot rage surged inside her and she knew that she was about to do something very stupid. 

Despite the fact that she could see very little of what she was up against besides the two men blocking her path to Clarke, she charged forward, oblivious to Octavia’s restraining hand as it fell from her shoulder. In one swift movement, the hilt of her knife rested in her palm and in another she brought it up to slice swiftly across the neck of the goon standing nearest her. There was a brief spray of warm blood as he crumpled to the floor. His partner turned to face the movement, just in time to see Lexa’s knife plunge into his chest. She buried it up to the hilt and was staring right into his surprised, bulging eyes as blood entered his lungs and bubbled from his lips. He staggered once and clutched at the stage curtain for support. It tore beneath his bulk and both he and the heavy curtain fell onto the stage. He lay wrapped in his death shroud even as Lexa stepped over his body, drawing both Berettas. She brought them to bear on the small man sitting directly in front of the stage. 

“Cage Wallace, you slimy little fuck,” she spat, aiming for his pale forehead.

Lexa did not waver an inch even as every other weapon in the room was drawn in unison. It was her two cannons against almost twenty. Those odds didn't unnerve her in the slightest. 

The music continued to sound in the background, although Clarke was no longer dancing. Her attention was focused on Lexa - a look of overwhelming relief mingled with absolute horror was fixed on her face. While it was the salvation she had longed for, now that Lexa was here she regretted it. Clarke wanted to get out of this horror, but not at the cost of Lexa's life. 

Cage remained sitting in his chair. He pressed his palms together in front of him as a man praising someone for his good fortune. 

“Well, well, if it isn’t the former detective Lexa Woods. You haven’t changed since the last time I saw you...when I was sprawled in agony on that rain soaked street after you shattered both my knees completely!” Cage spat. “Prison was less than you deserved, bitch!” 

“You’re the bitch that should have gone to prison,” Lexa replied coolly, her head cleared enough for her to take stock of the situation. 

She regretted charging in like an angry fool but there was little she could do about it now. The odds were stacked against her, there was no doubt about that. While she kept her gaze fixed on Wallace, she surveyed the room. She saw the sea of suit-clad shapes, the metal of their gun barrels pointing in her direction. They were all in a state of dishevelment, ties loose and shirts coming undone as they had moments ago been revealing in their wanton lust. They were a bunch of dangerous, pissed off men and anyone of them could have a jumpy trigger finger.

Lexa also knew Clarke was just behind her…and that was bad. If the situation deteriorated, which seemed inevitable, there was no way she could protect the kid save throwing herself in front of a hail of bullets. Someone had to break…or take a chance.

What happened next threw the ex-cop completely. 

“Speaking of prison, I think you’ll enjoy meeting up with one of your old friends, someone I believe you know very well indeed,” Cage threw out one arm in the direction of stage right, as though he were introducing a new character to a play. 

“Hello, Lexa. Did you miss me?” A figure emerged from the shadows in a single, confident stride. 

**I feel everything magnified a thousand fold. The coat of cold sweat that covers my body, the sting of the gash on my cheek from where that sonofabitch rammed my face into a mirror. The blood caking on my face. Clarke whispers my name urgently but it just makes things worse. The fear starts in my gut. Above the trembling barrels of my Berettas, I see Cage’s ugly mug. He’s laughing at me but my fingers are too stiff to jerk a trigger and wipe the smug smile off his face. It’s the same frozen fear that I felt nine years ago. My first night in prison when that fuckin’ dyke and her lackeys jumped me.  
**

“Nia,” Lexa growled through gritted teeth.


	14. A Private Hell

**A/N: The penultimate chapter!**

**Just re-stating the warnings to keep everyone safe. There is a brief description of rape in this chapter - it's not overtly explicit but please be careful.**

 

**Chapter 14**

**A Private Hell**

 

Nia's name had barely left Lexa's lips when the ballroom suddenly descended into darkness. Octavia Blake froze for a moment, her heart thudding amidst the sudden shouts from Cage's thugs, with her hand still clutching the master light switch she'd just pulled. Now that she'd done it, doubt began to creep into her mind. Had she been right not to wait for the signal from Lexa? 

Octavia had to stifle a scream when something solid collided with her, rough hands then started dragging her away from the switch.

“Quiet! Out the way we came in now!” It was Lexa speaking in a low and urgent voice.

Octavia was making for the tiny slit of light ahead of her when the shooting started. It felt as though she was running through a hail of bullets. Cage's men were firing blind into the darkness. When she burst through the door, Octavia almost tumbled head first into a man who had been about to enter. She barely suppressed the scream she wanted to let out. Even as she watched him level his own handgun at her, she found herself frozen. The gun that Lexa had given her felt too heavy in her grip. The guy’s head suddenly jerked back. With a single hole in his forehead, he toppled to the floor. Octavia glanced over her shoulder to see a thin plume of smoke coming from the barrel of one of Lexa’s Berettas. Behind Lexa, pale and trembling, Clarke clutched her lover’s hand tightly.

There was no time for reunions of any sort, Lexa prodded Octavia forward with the handle of the Beretta. “Straight ahead and then right, continue down the hallway and take a left into a foyer. The glass door at the end is our way out. Stay close, it’s going to get dark again.”

Octavia had started forward when she heard a muffled explosion which jarred the substructure of the house around them. It was immediately followed by the lights above and on the walls winking out in an instant. Octavia stumbled blindly down the passage, trying to remember Lexa’s directions. She slammed into several walls before emerging in the glass foyer Lexa had mentioned, it was dimly lit by the glow of the city beyond the gardens. Before she could even get close enough to try the handle, the entire door shattered as Lexa blew it apart with a single shot. 

The ex-cop pushed past Octavia, shouldering what remained of the door open with a powerful shove of her shoulder. All three of them escaped out into the night. Lexa surged forward, ahead of the two girls. She'd replaced her pistols with a shotgun. A goon came from the right, Lexa fired, sending him crashing backwards straight into an imitation Grecian stature. White shards of marble flew out in a cloud around his body. A bullet slammed into brick inches from Lexa’s head and she whirled, pumping the shotgun as she moved, before dispatching the second goon before he could fire a second shot. He went crashing through a window, shattered glass falling around him. 

“Head for the fence. Keep low!” Lexa hissed, pushing both Octavia and Clarke forward. "Anya's waiting for you." 

Octavia didn't need to be told twice. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, ignoring everything other than the glorious sight of Anya sitting on top of the fence with her hand outstretched and beckoning. 

“Anya!” Octavia gasped. 

With one strong pull, Anya pulled her up atop the wall. Octavia scrambled up to lie flat next to Anya. She turned and saw both Clarke and Lexa still some distance behind her. Neither were running, although Lexa was trying to shove Clarke in the direction of the wall.  

“Fuck! Woods couldn’t organise her way out of a paper bag!” Anya growled angrily.

Anya could only watch as another figure emerged from the house while Lexa’s attention was focused on Clarke. A warning was on her lips. She was about to spring down from the wall when Octavia screamed once beside her and disappeared from the wall, dragged backwards by her ankles by someone unseen on the other side of the wall. Before Anya could move, she felt a vice-like grip around her own ankle and she too was hauled down from her perch.

* * *

 

Clarke had been following Octavia closely. She knew she should do exactly as Lexa said and get the hell out of that garden, but she'd made the mistake of looking over her shoulder. Lexa was no longer running, just standing in a tense stance, watching the house as though she were waiting for something. Or someone.

"Lexa!" 

Lexa 's heard Clarke's shout. A part of her knew that she should run, but some unseen force held her in place. She couldn't simply run again. If she did, then she would spend the rest of her life running.  There were demons that needed to be slain before she could move on. 

“Go! For fuck’s sake, Clarke!” Lexa urged with a wave of her hand. “I’ll be right behind you!” 

“No!” Clarke shot back, just as forcefully. “You’ll be right beside me!” 

Clarke’s hand shot out to latch onto Lexa’s wrist and she tugged insistently in the direction of the wall. Lexa tugged out of Clarke’s grip with one swift jerk of her arm. 

“I have to stay and do this.” 

“What can be more important than getting the hell out of here?” Clarke demanded. 

Lexa’s attention was focused on Clarke when she heard solid footsteps on the marble tiles behind her. She spun on her heels, drawing both her Berettas as she whirled about. Nia walked out of the house. Although the con carried no visible weapons, Nia was rubbing her palms together in anticipation, not in the least bit disturbed by facing Lexa’s Berettas. 

Lexa instantly knew why the bitch was so confident. Her guts turned to stone as she realised her mistake. Keeping her guns on Nia she glanced over her shoulder just as she heard a strangled gasp from Clarke. Even as she swung one Beretta around to face Clarke’s attackers, black suits swarmed the blonde’s small frame, manhandling her quickly into submission despite her valiant struggles. In a few seconds Clarke was caught in a headlock with a pistol pressed firmly against her temple.  

Despite the fact that the odds were stacked against her, Lexa remained composed. She shifted her gaze between her targets and kept up a reassuring façade for Clarke’s sake. 

“Us ex-cons can see well in the dark.” Nia stopped a few metres away from Lexa and commenced flexing her knuckles with great enthusiasm.

“Tell those goons over there to let the girl go,” Lexa was straight to business. “Or I’ll drill a hole straight through your forehead.” 

“It's nice to see you still have your sense of humour, Woods. " Nia then inclined her head slightly in Clarke’s direction. “Your girl’s pretty, but I don’t think she’d look so nice with half her face missing.” 

It was a stalemate. Lexa knew she could blow Nia a new air hole and possibly even plug the guy holding Clarke. However she also knew that, as she tried to squeeze off another shot, bullets would slam into either her own body or Clarke’s. Probably both. 

Clarke kept up her struggle against the thug holding her but his trunk like arm held fast around her neck. With it struggle it grew tighter to the point where she could barely breathe. The barrel of his gun felt as though it were breaking the skin at her temple. Although she was hardly an expert in such situations, Clarke could clearly see that Lexa had very few options, all of which would end up messy. 

“This isn’t going to get us anywhere,” Nia grunted impatiently. “Why don't you get rid of those cannons? You and me, just like the old days. You win and you can take your girl out of here.” 

“Yeah, just like the old days,” Lexa replied sardonically. “Just you and a gang of thugs to back you up if something goes wrong.” 

Nia cocked her head to one side. "I wouldn't believe me either, but what other choice do you have? On my honour, Woods, just the two of us as though we were still in the joint. Fists only." 

Lexa slowly raised both hands and flipped her Berettas so the barrels were facing her palms. She then dropped the guns to the ground and kept her hands in the air. Clarke felt her heart thud against her chest and hoped to god that Lexa knew what she was doing as she stood unarmed in the midst of a gang of ruthless thugs. She heard her captors murmur in anticipation before roughly dragging her further away in order to give the two women more space. 

**Nia is dancing around like a prize-fighter in the ring. It sickens me but that’s not the worst of it. I know it’s not all posturing. She’s built like predator, hard cords of muscle wrapped around her long limbs. I know from experience that trying to drop her is like trying to drop an elephant with an air rifle.  
**

**I’m aware of Clarke looking on and a part of me wishes they would take her away because I know that it would destroy her to see Nia beat me to a pulp. That’s not something I’m especially keen to see happen either…but I can’t rule it out. I remember all too clearly what happened the first time she caught me alone and unprepared nine years ago. I remember how much it bloody hurt, both physically and mentally. There’s nothing more degrading, nothing that leaves so big a scar as having as loathsome and cruel an individual as Nia lay their hands on you.**

Nia moved like lightning. Her first right-handed jab shot out straight at Lexa’s temple like a piston with a follow up blow from the left swinging around to catch her as she tried to duck. Lexa just managed to weave to one side as she felt steel-like knuckles graze the side of the head and then ducked low to miss the second swing. 

From that moment the fight was on, with the two women moving across Dante Wallace’s lawn at a frenetic pace that did not appear to let up for a moment. Nia relied mostly on her power as she sent crushing blows towards Lexa’s face and body. 

In the face of Nia’s brutal attacks, Lexa had to rely on her speed. She ducked beneath another of Nia’s right punches; it missed her by a mile. Too late Lexa realised that it had been a feint with the sole aim of putting her directly into the path of a left hook. The iron-like fist crashed into Lexa’s jaw and sent her spinning sideways, senses disappearing into blackness. She came to with blades of grass pressed against her cheek and the smell of earth and cut grass filling her nostrils. Her limbs felt oddly disconnected from her body as she struggled to make them work. Lexa planted both palms in the dirt and dragged herself upwards. Despite the ringing in her ears and persistent double vision that gave her four hands, Lexa knew she had mere seconds before Nia pressed home her advantage.

Lexa rolled onto her back just as a heavy boot thudded into the earth where her body had lain. Her double vision led to the awful nightmare of two Ice Queen’s standing over her with their arms drawn back, about to strike again. 

At the moment the fists came crashing down, the two merged into one. Lexa lifted her own hands to catch the hunk of flesh and bone before it could pound into her face. She stopped the punch cold and lifted her leg to ram her foot forward into Nia’s gut and drive the wind right out of her. Nia fell backwards onto her ass.    

“You know it’ll take more than one of your bitch slaps to keep me down!” Lexa snarled. 

With her temper rising, Nia unleashed a growl from the back of her throat and threw her bulk forward. Lexa was reminded of a charging bull, complete with bared tusks, as Nia came crashing towards her. She had all the time in the world to avoid the other woman, diving easily beneath her outstretched arms and spinning to face her back. Nia was too slow in her recovery. Lexa unleashed a right, left, uppercut combo which snapped Nia’s head from side to side and then jerked her chin backwards sharply. She then brought her knee up into Nia’s chin before she could even shake off the last blow. Each of Lexa's blows struck flesh with a satisfying crack. The Ice Queen stumbled backwards beneath Lexa’s furious blows, shoulders sagging. 

As Nia stood, half-hunched, Lexa brought her leg in a sweeping roundhouse kick aimed at her midsection.  Nia saw the kick coming and, far from finished, she twisted slightly to catch Lexa’s leg in a firm grip. She then used the leg as leverage to lift and hurl Lexa through the air like a log of wood. 

Lexa spun several times before she crashed into the ground once again. Although dazed, she quickly sprang to her feet and was ready to meet Nia as she charged once more. Nia approached more cautiously, resorting once again to her fists rather than using her whole body weight. Lexa was forced to concentrate for all she was worth, watching each blow, judging the timing and staying wary of the feint. She managed to sneak in several blows of her own to Nia’s head and gut although none appeared to have much of an effect.  

“Slowing down?” Nia taunted as Lexa danced away from her latest punch. 

The two women faced each other out of arms reach. There was a cut above Nia's right eye and her lip was split. Lexa knew she looked just as bad. 

“Not in the slightest,” Lexa hissed in reply, trying to keep the exhaustion from sounding too clearly in her voice. “Why, are you?” 

Nia spat a bloody gob onto the ground in front of her. “I won’t slow down until I've finished you off. I should’ve done it nine years ago.” 

“You’re a fucking pussy,” Lexa replied contemptuously, lightly stepping in a semi-circle around Nia, forcing the other woman to keep moving to face her.“You didn’t have the balls to do it then. You wouldn’t have even dared touch me if it hadn’t been for your posse backing you up. You couldn’t lift a finger to wipe your ass without them.” 

Lexa laughed as Nia came at her once again in the heat of anger, missing by a mile with her badly timed swings. She was content to duck and dance around Nia as she swung and tired herself without so much as managing to hit a hair on her head. 

“Let’s not forget why you took a shine to me in the first place,” Lexa commented, planting a few of her own punches on Nia’s face, feeling the satisfying crunch as he fingers pounded flesh against bone. “Your Daddy ordered you to take care of me didn’t he? Taking orders, that’s all you do. Dante Wallace owns you, Nia.”

Nia glowered. “You're getting on my nerves, Lexa. Why don't I tell your little whore over there about our first night together in the joint? Perhaps her and I could swap notes about your tight, wet cunt?” Nia paused and glanced over to where Clarke was being held. She smiled, showing blood stained teeth. “Lexa didn’t tell you did she, Clarke? She didn’t tell you about the time she spread her legs for me.” 

Clarke had felt her fists clench instinctively with each sound of flesh striking flesh, each blow that Lexa took felt as though it had been delivered to her own body. However the blow of Nia's words sent her reeling more than any other. Across the short distance that separated then, Clarke watched the red flush of exhaustion drain from Lexa’s cheeks to be replaced by the while pallor of terror. A lump was jammed in her throat as Lexa turned to look at her with those green eyes of hers shining with unshed tears. Clarke stood, frozen in place, the lump threatening to choke her as she tried to process the myriad of feelings running through her mind. The thousand and one thoughts that she could not express all at once. Clarke herself was scared, cold and hurt but her gut ached most of all for Lexa. 

Clarke glared at Nia, finding a gloating, self-satisfied expression on the older woman's face that made Clarke clench her fists and strain against her captors.

Lexa was somewhere else… 

**It shouldn’t happen like this, not now, but I’m drawn back to that night. My first night in hell. I was already on laundry detail. It was stinking hot, steam filled the air and the sweat ran in rivers down my body, soaking my clothes to my skin. I didn’t even know what hit me really, but there were five of them and they caught me by surprise. I was thrown forward against the metal table, face first into the dirty laundry. The next thing I knew I was stripped naked from the waist down. Icy cold fingers dug into my hips. I knew it was Nia. Those same fingers then started pawing between my legs while the bitch ground herself against my ass.  
**

**I’m not sure what was worse, feeling her thrusting inside me or the orgasm that shook her body minutes later.  
**

With Lexa’s attention drawn away from the fight at hand and buried within her own private terror, Nia suddenly caught her with a powerful right hook on the jaw. Lexa’s head snapped sideways and she crashed to the ground. Once again she tried to struggle to her feet but only got as far as her hands and knees before one of Nia’s steel caps thudded into her gut. Lexa was thrown onto her back by the force of the kick. She crumpled as Nia continued to kick her without mercy. The other woman's face was twisted into an expression of pure malice.  

Clarke watched forced to watch in horror. Despite the fact that it was already clear Lexa would not be leaping to her feet in a hurry, Nia grabbed the front of Lexa's shirt to lift her up from the ground and being laying into her with repeated jabs to the face. After several blows she threw Lexa back to the ground and wiped her hands. 

“Show’s over,” Nia turned her head and called out to the men who held Clarke, she waved them towards the house. “Better take the girl inside, Mr Wallace will be waiting for her. I’ll finish up out here.’

Focused solely on Lexa’s motionless body, Clarke was blinded to everything else that was going on around her. The sight of Lexa’s bloody face filled her vision and she wanted nothing more than to move forward. When hands tightened even further on her already bruised arms and attempted to drag her backwards, away from Lexa, Clarke snapped out of her terrified trance. She unleashed a sudden and violent struggle against the arms that held her, twisting every which way as she tried to extract herself all the while calling out desperately for Lexa. 

“Lexa!” Clarke yelled as she kicked out with her legs, trying to catch one of her attackers. “Lexa!" 

Clarke struggled so furiously that she managed to escape their clutches altogether. However, she barely managed to break into a run before they tackled her and dragged her to her feet, still lashing out.

“You sack of shit!” Clarke yelled in Nia’s direction. “You’re a coward! A fucking coward!” 

One of the brutes grunted in annoyance and reached down to fumble for the holster at his waist. In one swift movement he drew his pistol and brought it crashing down on the side of his captive’s head. The struggling ceased immediately and Clarke sagged like limp sack of potatoes. He grunted once more, obviously pleased to have shut her up, and with very little effort tossed her over his shoulder.

The pair moved inside with their unconscious prize, leaving Nia to put an end to the bloody and broken woman at her feet.


	15. Four Big Fat Kills

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Four Big Fat Kills**

 Dragged unceremoniously from her perch on the wall Anya was dumped on the ground. Indignant that she could have succumbed to such treatment she bolted to her feet, angry and impatient to kick the ass of whoever was responsible. She stood straight into the path of an incoming right hook which snapped her jaw to the side and sent her spinning to the ground where she landed with an audible thud. 

Anya’s ears rang as she lifted her face from the gravel. More than a few stones remained embedded in the skin of her cheek as she did so. She heard the crunch of boots behind her and feigned a more serious injury. When her attacker was within striking distance she lashed out with her boot and caught both legs in a sweeping kick. He grunted as his body struck the gravel hard, more from surprise than pain as he bounded lightly to his feet. Despite his speed, Anya had time to kick herself to her feet. In a split second she was standing with her feet firmly planted and a wicked looking knife in her right hand. 

It was in that moment, as she faced off against her attacker that she could see just who she was up against. He was a lean man with an angular face, his body clad in a leather jacket that hung to the tops of his combat boots. A pair of piercing eyes bore through the darkness and into her own. 

The two warriors faced one another in the shadow of the wall. Their battlefield was an expanse of gravel and lawn, a sharp line down the centre where shadow and streetlight met. The quiet was only broken by the sound of Octavia scrambling across the gravel on all fours to a spot behind Anya. 

Her eyes were wide with terror at the sight of the man she recognised all too clearly. "That's the bastard that killed Indra!" 

Anya’s eyes immediately narrowed as she felt hate and a desire for revenge surge through her body. Her grip tightened on the haft of her knife. 

“Name’s Anya, just so you know who’s going to rip your fucking throat open and laugh as you gurgle away your last few moments of life!” 

“Emerson,” he drawled casually in reply, a small smirk creasing his face as he drew his own blade from inside his coat and ran his thumb along the edge. “Your friend Indra was a right spitfire…she was good. Are you sure you’re better? Because if you’re not…I’ll be the only one doing any ripping here tonight.” 

“Am I better?” Anya growled, further incensed by his mention of Indra’s name. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?” 

Their banter over, Anya and Emerson surged forward at the same moment both searching to make the first strike. Anya was faster on her feet, and she received a grunt of surprise from her opponent as he had to twist his body and grab at her knife arm to avoid being run through. 

With her wrist ensnared in a vice-like grip, Anya delivered a swift kick to Emerson’s knee even as he brought his own knife up towards her body, he crumpled slightly and the sharp blade narrowly missed her arm instead of plunging beneath her rib-cage. They then began a dance, trading delicate jabs and swiping knife blows as their feet moved across the gravel beneath them. Unlike a fist-fight, it was all too quiet. The only sounds being the crunch of small stones and the barely audible swish of metal through the air. Every so often Anya or Emerson would grunt in frustration as yet another blow went wide or was blocked. 

The pair were evenly matched. Both Anya and Emerson knew that inwardly, although neither would admit it. They traded blow after blow with a few hits striking and even fewer actually taking a toll on the opponent. Anya was bleeding profusely from a deep gash along her forearm but she stoically ignored it. She had managed to swipe Emerson across his chest, ripping open his shirt and leaving a trail of red. 

The conclusion was almost an anti-climax in its finality and apparent ease. However, the actual execution of it concealed the difficulty of learning and understanding the way your opponent moved which culminated in the ability to predict the next attack. Anya did just that, she knew Emerson favoured his right side while the left was for little more than defence. He went in high, aiming for the throat with many of his swipes. Anya suspected that he craved the sight of a person’s life-blood pumping out of their severed jugular. 

It was almost simple, Emerson’s left crashed into Anya’s shoulder and she used its force to spin around her opponent. She ducked beneath his awkward swipe as she moved around him and deftly spun her knife mid-twirl so it lay face down in her palm. He was already moving to face her once more but she was fast, driven by the need to finish this fight. She leapt and slammed the weapon downwards between his shoulder blades. Emerson let out a long groan and slumped forwards. Before he could fall or stumble Anya had moved completely behind him and wrapped her left arm around his body to prop him up. As she cradled his body, feeling hot blood from his wound soak into her own clothing, she wrapped her right arm around his body and brought the knife straight down into his chest and twisted savagely.

“I guess I am better,” she whispered in his ear as blood gushed from the second, fatal would.

With a grunt of disgust, she released his dying body from her hold and took a step back to allow him to slump to the ground. He fell face forward into the gravel and an ever-widening pool of blood began to form beneath him. Emerson gave one last spasm before he died. Anya stood over his body feeling little emotion other than anger. 

“That’s for Indra, you piece of shit,” Anya contemptuously spat blood onto the corpse at her feet.

Anya found Octavia standing a few metres behind her. She reached out her arm to the girl and Octavia came running forward. She flew into Anya’s body with a dull thud and wrapped her arms tightly around her waist.

“I know it’s not going to bring Indra back,” Anya remarked dully as she stared at the body lying before her and stroked Octavia’s hair. “But it sure as hell makes me feel a damn sight better!” 

Anya glanced back towards the Wallace mansion and was deeply disturbed by the silence and absence of either Clarke or Lexa. She glanced back to the Oldsmobile parked a ways down the street and checked her pocket to find the keys still there. They jingled in her hand as she ran her fingers over them, lost in thought for a few moments. 

“I think it’s high time we found out what the fuck has been keeping our friends,” she announced resolutely. 

* * *

 

Clarke regained consciousness with her last memory being her lover lying senseless on the manicured lawn as Nia kicked her repeatedly in the stomach. Combined with her pounding headache it was not a good way to wake and it put her in a decidedly angry frame of mind. She moved her limbs experimentally but soon felt heavy metal cuffs encircling her wrists. Clarke lifted her head to find herself manacled on her stomach to the headboard of a large bed. She twisted her head awkwardly and found herself in a sumptuously appointed room with rich furnishings and a marble fireplace. There was no doubt in her mind as to why she was there. At any moment, Cage Wallace would swagger into the room and find his long-awaited and much-fought over prize lying spread-eagled on the bed for him. 

The thought of lying helpless on the bed as Cage made his triumphant entrance made Clarke sick to her stomach. She pulled experimentally at the cuffs that held her by the wrists and found them to be poorly tightened, although not nearly enough for her to slip out of them. Clarke took a deep breath, gritted her teeth and then jerked her hand backwards, trying to tear herself free from the metal cuffs. There was no way her hand was going to come free without breaking her skin but Clarke was desperately determined. 

There was no rescue coming now. 

Clarke bit her lip to stifle the inevitable scream as her right hand tore free from the cuffs. She glanced down at the swollen, bloody wrist to find that it was not as bad as she had prepared herself for. It stung like hell...but strengthened her resolve to rip the second hand free. 

Ignoring the pain in her wrists, Clarke swung herself from the bed and padded quickly across the floor to the heavy door. She gently pressed down on the handle but found it securely locked. She was about to growl in frustration when she heard shuffling footsteps outside the door. Clarke looked around frantically for something, anything that she could use as a weapon. Much to her annoyance the dominant furnishing in the room appeared to be cushions. She then glanced across to the fireplace and found the perfect tool.

Cage entered the room to find his captive laid out on the bed in front of him, satin night dress barely concealing the mounds of her buttocks. He took a few steps into the room and closed the door behind him. As he approached the bed he licked his lips in anticipation, feeling confident enough to toss his cane to one side. A little awkwardly, he began stripping his clothes from his body before he joined the unconscious girl in bed. He stopped when he was down to his white shirt and boxer shorts, leaving him a rather pathetic specimen of manhood as he clambered up on the big bed. He greedily took in the sight of Clarke’s flesh laid out before him and although he itched to tear the only item of clothing from her body, he also wanted to draw things out as long as possible. Several days at least. 

“Wakey, wakey, sweetheart,” he whispered, hunkering down behind her. 

It was then that Cage saw the blood staining the bed covers. He paused in a kneeling position behind Clarke. His gaze travelled up her body, expecting to find that his men had injured her in some way but instead he saw the bands of red around her wrists. A lump formed in his throat when he saw the bloody, empty cuffs dangling from the headboard. 

“What the-”

It was all he had time to say before Clarke moved in a blur, rising from her face down position and bringing her right arm swinging around. The fire poker in her hand caught him a glancing blow on the side of his head and he toppled backwards off the bed. Clarke followed, weapon in hand. She watched him for a few moments as he tried to raise himself into a crawling position and felt a cold contempt for her would be rapist. 

“Goodnight, you sick fuck,” Clarke whispered, feeling an odd hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach as she raised the poker above her head once more.

* * *

 

Lexa was dimly aware of the dull thud of something hard into earth. She recognised the sound all too well; it was the sound of someone digging a hole. If there was one thing a con doing hard time knew about, it was digging holes. Lexa had dug enough of them in her time to know the familiar thud of the shovel striking earth - soft earth in this case - a booted foot forcing it further into the ground, the squelch as it was levered upwards with its load and the swish just before the earth spattered into a pile. In conjunction to the sound, she felt the vibrations through the earth as she lay face down, her cheek turned to one side. She was aware of all this before she could even open her eyes. 

Lexa forced her eyes open but she could only manage small slits, enough to see who’s boot it was that was doing the digging. Nia. Someone else who had plenty of practice digging holes. She must have seen Lexa’s eyes open because she stopped digging and tossed her shovel down onto the large mound of dirt at her side. Nia hunkered down to place herself within Lexa’s line of sight. 

“Digging you a nice little grave, Lexa.” Nia inclined her head towards the hole. “I thought Dante Wallace would enjoy the thought of your festering corpse pushing up his roses. 

Lexa didn’t reply, she couldn’t get her mouth to move. All she could do was lie and stare at Baby. She closed her eyes fairly quickly and found herself in agony not because of the battering her body had taken, but because she had let Clarke down. Clarke was in the hands of that sick little monster because she had let the Nia get to her. 

Nia was apparently enjoying the occasion with the intention of savouring it and drawing it out as long as possible. She grunted as Lexa refused to open her eyes and look at her, returning to her digging. As she shovelled, she continued talking. Lexa ceased to listen, she blocked the guttural sounds out and willed herself to sink into unconsciousness. It was all she could do as she’d already tried to move her limbs and felt nothing but excruciating pain. There was no way she could drag herself to her feet unaided. 

A few minutes later Lexa was aware of fingers curling around her ankles. Her legs were raised and someone tugged, dragging her deadweight body across the grass. Lexa felt the blades of grass scrape against the skin of her cheek. Any second now and her body would be shoved into the hole Nia had lovingly prepared for the purpose. She imagined her face thudding into the soft, cool earth. That same earth would then begin to land on her body as Nia refilled her hole. At first it would just be a splattering, barely any weight at all. However, all too quickly it would cover her completely and the weight would become intense and suffocating. Lexa had always imagined her death coming in a hail of bullets, even though someone had already tried that.

Being buried alive was a hell of a way to die.

A sharp crack suddenly sliced through the night air. Lexa immediately recognised it as a shot from a Beretta, her own tool of the trade. The grip on her ankles disappeared. She heard a thud, the sound of a body falling against the soft earth. Moments later came the barely audible sound of feet striking grass, growing louder as they drew closer. A weight hit the ground directly beside her and she felt gentle but insistent hands on her body. Then came the sweetest sound she’d heard all night. 

“Please tell me you’re not dead!” Clarke’s voice pleaded, her voice sounded close as she was obviously leaning directly over Lexa. 

“Just about,” Lexa heard herself reply, the words squeezed out between clenched teeth.

Clarke choked out a laugh of relief and she manoeuvred behind Lexa. She hooked her arms beneath Lexa’s armpits. She strained to pull Lexa upright with some urgency. At the sudden reappearance of her pain, Lexa’s eyes snapped open. Clarke was behind her so all she could see of her was strands of red hair fluttering past her face. 

“We need to go,” Clarke huffed and puffed as she managed to get Lexa into a sitting position. “They would’ve heard that shot for sure.” 

“What?” Lexa asked dimly, feeling an overwhelming rush of blood throughout her body as Clarke moved her about roughly in her haste, even though she was trying to be as gentle as possible. 

“I shot the bitch,” Clarke replied simply. 

It was then that Lexa realised she could see her would-be grave. For a few moments she had the eerie sensation of looking down at herself in death before her mind registered that it was in fact Nia, a single bullet hole through her forehead. Her icy gaze stared sightlessly at the night sky. 

**As I lay in Clarke’s arms I reflect on the fact that Nia didn’t deserve such a merciful end…especially after the bitch was going to bury me alive.  Still, I am able to enjoy the irony of her lying dead in the grave that she dug for me. That alone feels pretty fucking fantastic.**

“Well done,” Lexa murmured, almost oblivious to Clarke’s efforts to try and move her limp body.

Clarke grunted with superhuman effort but could not lift Lexa to her feet. She could not bring herself to dwell on Lexa’s bloody face. The brief glance she had already caught was enough to confirm that Lexa had taken a brutal pounding.

“Lexa, baby, you’ve gotta help me here, I can’t carry you outta here. Can you just try a little for me?” Clarke pleaded. 

“Sure,” Lexa whispered. 

She willed her legs to move, they jerked a little before working slowly to try and gain a foothold on the ground as Clarke continued to lever her upwards. It wasn’t so much that her legs weren’t working, it was the connection between her legs and her brain that had been completed fried…in fact, the connection between her brain and absolutely everything was fried. Leaning heavily on Clarke to the point where she was almost forcing the girl to her knees, Lexa finally managed to stand. She was standing in time to see almost a dozen Wallace goons tearing out of the mansion, guns in their hands and faces twisted with fury. They were yelling and cursing as they made their way towards the two women struggling to move. A woman’s voice joined them and Lexa awkwardly lifted her head to see Dante Wallace standing on a second floor balcony, gripping the railing with both hands. 

“You fucking whore!” Dante screamed, her voice carrying with its power and fury. “I’m going to make you wish you were never born!” 

“Clarke, what did you do?” Lexa asked as Dante’s shrill voice rung heavily in her ears.

“I bashed Cage’s head in with a poker,” Clarke admitted quickly, even as she realised they were never going to be able to move fast enough to get over the wall. 

Something even louder than Glory’s threats drew Clarke’s attention, a grinding of metal, exploding masonry and screeching of tires. She turned as best she could with Lexa in her arms and saw Anya’s Oldsmobile being driven straight through the wrought iron gate that protected the entrance. The carnage continued once the car was through the gate as Anya pulled herself out the passenger window and opened up with two guns blazing. Octavia was  at the wheel, driving straight towards their friends on the grass. **  
**

**As the bullets started to fly I know I am going to die with many regrets…but I also know that Nia and that snake Cage Wallace have not outlived me. They’ve both gone to the hell they deserve.**

While Clarke could clearly see the Oldsmobile screeching towards them, it took both Lexa a few moments to realise that they weren’t the ones being shot at. When the first of their attackers flew backwards with a bullet in his chest she looked in the same direction as Clarke to see a familiar and welcome sight. It was the very same car that had so brazenly held up the prison bus what seemed like an eternity ago. A wild Anya, hair streaming out behind her, had guns in both hands and was plugging goons left, right and centre. Behind the wheel, Octavia steered the car directly in front of Clarke and Lexa. 

The Oldsmobile ground to a halt, carving wide grooves in the manicured lawn. Anya continued to shoot until the last of their pursuers had been hit and was either dead or lying on the ground writhing in pain. She turned to face Clarke and Lexa, hair wild about her head and fire in her eyes. Holstering her guns, she slid out of the car window and ran to Clarke’s side. She took Lexa’s weight from Clarke, moving her swiftly towards the back door of the Oldsmobile. Clarke opened the door, as she did Anya glanced up and gave her a brief smile. 

“I thought Woods was supposed to be rescuing you?” she asked Clarke archly. 

“She did rescue me,” Clarke replied as Anya moved Lexa onto the back seat. “Then I had to rescue her…” 

Lying back on the leather of the Oldsmobile’s back seat, Lexa lifted her head at the sound of Clarke’s words and smiled. Clarke went to climb into the back seat with Lexa but stopped when she lifted her hand towards her. She was grasping a small cylindrical object which she tried to press into Clarke’s hand. Accepting it, Clarke glanced down to find a small button on top. 

“We gotta go!” Anya slammed the flat of her hand down on the roof of the car, she leapt back through the passenger window as several more guards came running from the house.

“Clarke, would you press that button for me?” Lexa whispered. 

Clarke stood just outside the car and looked from the device in her hand back to the house. Her eyes moved from the rushing goons up to the balcony where Glory Wallace stood, screeching for her dead son. A small smirk crossed Clarke’s face and with a feeling of immense satisfaction she jammed her thumb down hard on the device’s button.

* * *

 

At that same moment, within the depths of the Wallace mansion, the devices that Lexa had placed earlier that evening picked up the trigger that Clarke had pressed. Each device gave off a solitary high-pitched bleep, an all too late warning of the fury to follow.

 

* * *

 

 

Dante Wallace watched with a manic sort of rage as his men rushed to intercept the car full of whores before they could make good their getaway. Already they were firing on the car, bullets pinging off the metal, one shattered the side window. He watched the little blonde bitch duck behind the door. Dante's white-knuckled fists clenched even tighter as he willed the bullets to tear into the whore's flesh. 

He suddenly felt hot air at the nape of his neck Dante looked over his shoulder just in time to see a wall of fire cascading towards him. There was no time to scream before the explosion blew him off the balcony and sailing out over his rose garden.

* * *

 

Clarke felt the intense heat even as she stood behind the Oldsmobile. She watched in gruesome fascination as the Wallace goons were swallowed up within the hungry depths of the fireball and as a single dark object went sailing out from the second floor balcony and came crashing down on the lawn. Although she found it difficult to tear her gaze away, she dimly heard Anya screaming at her to get in the car. She lowered herself on the backseat next to Lexa. Anya had taken over from Octavia behind the wheel and she jammed the stick into reverse and gunned the engine. 

The Oldsmobile reversed at speed and its occupants felt a sudden jarring as the tyres hit something in their path. Anya then put it in gear and drove forward, a second bump followed before the car went careening out of the gate and off into the night. 

“Next stop…home!” Anya announced as she floored the pedal with great gusto. **  
**

**As we pull away from the fiery inferno that is the Wallace mansion, I lie back on the leather set and watch the red hot glow of the flames reflected on Clarke, her hair, her skin, everything is golden. She must sense me watching and she turns her head to meet my gaze. I can see she’s exhausted but she flicks me a little smile that makes me forget my own injuries.  
**

**The glow fades as the mansion is left far behind us, left to burn itself to the ground and all the pain it holds within it. I know that the cops will arrive pretty damn fast…as soon as they find out their number one source of funding has just gone up in flames. They’ll find a smoking, gutted ruin, with the Lord of the house lying blackened and very much dead on the front lawn, tyre marks ingrained into his flesh. And Nia will be lying in her grave, a single shot through the head. They probably won't find much of Cage Wallace other than a few blackened bones.**

“You’re a mess,” Clarke whispered as she edged across the wide back seat of the Oldsmobile to kneel on the floor beside Lexa’s bruised and bloodied face. “What you did…” 

Lexa’s hand darted out surprisingly fast and she pressed a finger to Clarke’s lips, “Don’t even start to thank me, we’re even and that’s the end of the story.” 

Lexa let her hand drop to leave Clarke free to reply.

“Okay,” Clarke nodded. 

“And those things that Nia said...what happened in prison. What she did to me-” Lexa began awkwardly. 

“Forgotten already,” Clarke nodded again. 

Lexa shook her head insistently. “No, not forgotten…kept between us.”

“Okay,” Clarke felt her voice catch slightly, she reached out and took Lexa’s hand in her own. 

“I want you to know me completely,” Lexa whispered as her other hand reached out to cup Clarke’s cheek. With her thumb, she brushed away the tears that were welling at the corner of Clarke's eye. “Does that scare you?”+

“I think maybe that it should,” Clarke replied. “But I love you…so no.” 

**I hear those soft words from her lips and I close my eyes, wanting to hold onto them for a little longer before I realise, possibly a little presumptuously, that I’ll be hearing them repeated for a long time to come.  It’s strange concept, making plans for the future but I know I’m not letting this woman go…and planning starts with a nice little hotel somewhere far away from Basin City. I imagine me, Clarke, and hot-tub with no clothes in sight.**

“Ditto, Clarke.” 

**THE END**

 

**A/N:** Thanks for reading!

 


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